


Sugar

by mikaelsonwetdreams



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Elijah Mikaelson smut, F/M, Sugar Daddy AU, kinky smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17289926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaelsonwetdreams/pseuds/mikaelsonwetdreams
Summary: Y/N is in the middle of a crisis when she’s saved by a handsome, wealthy stranger. Enchanted by each other, they begin a complicated relationship involving sex and expensive gifts.As their relationship grows, the pair is faced with many obstacles including unstable family members, jealous exes, and company politics. But, above all else, they have to decide whether their agreement of ‘no emotions attached’ is really worth it.





	1. Chapter One ⎯ The Crisis

Nestled in the forest, cradled by two mountains and miles from the nearest electricity pole, stands a cottage.

It’s beautiful in its simplicity; thick wooden logs form the tall, sturdy walls that hold up a high roof, charcoal-grey shingles worn from the weather as they hug the angles of the many triangular gables. There’s a tranquil stream nearby, close enough to fill the silent area with the sound of its peaceful flow but far away enough that the house is protected from any flooding.

Inside, the wooden interior is softened by rugs and blankets, cushions piled onto the deep couches and creating small, soft hills of fabric. The couches all face towards the fireplace; a large, brick-wrapped hole in the wall which holds the crackling fire that keeps the house warm, with a hefty pile of small logs standing nearby. It isn’t large⎯not like the average home⎯but it holds everything important.

That’s where you want to be.

That house, for as long as you can remember, has been the pinnacle of your happiness; the thing you look forward to every single year. You bundle yourself up in your thickest sweaters, wrap yourself in your softest scarves, and you fly to Maryland, where you then begin the tedious journey to your holiday home in the Appalachian Mountains. Every year, you greet your mother and father with warm hugs and happy tears, this being the only quality time that you can spend with them.

On Christmas Eve night, that is where you are supposed to be. But you aren’t.

Instead, you’re standing on your aching feet at an airport help desk, desperately trying to book a last-minute flight to Virginia.

You lean your weight on the desk, your eyebrows pulled together as you continue to plead with the woman sitting behind it. Sharon, the name-tag reads. That’s the strangest spelling of  _Bitch_  you’ve ever seen.

“You don’t understand,” you repeat, your voice nearly a groan as you feel exhaustion weigh down your limbs. You’ve been on your feet for sixteen hours, without a single break. “I need one tonight⎯like, right  _now_. Isn’t there a single flight with a spare seat? I’d be happy to lay in a baggage compartment, if you’d let me.”

Bitch-Sharon’s nose flares as she sighs, her dull eyes rolling as she listens to your attempt at reasoning. She had stopped typing into her computer a while ago, and this only frustrates you further. “As I’ve said before,” the woman says, her voice droning, “we cannot accommodate you at this time. There are many hotels that I can recommend to you in the meantime, but, unless somebody cancels last-minute, we are fully booked.” And then, as if that isn’t enough, “You picked one hell of a night.”

You feel tears threatening to escape at the words. As  _if_  you want to be doing this, standing for hours on end and panicking as you try to make it to Virginia. You want nothing more than to be in your parents’ arms, drinking spiked eggnog and singing off-tune Christmas carols. You want to sit by the fire, your cheeks warming both from the flames and from your happiness as you watch them cuddle into each other. You want to laugh, to smile, to tell each other stories about your year.

You want, want, want. But, it seems that this year, you can’t  _have_.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you try to calm yourself. You can’t afford to be emotional. Not now, when people need you to be a pillar of support. A rock.

You steel yourself as you straighten up slightly. “Look,” you say, proud of how much calmer you sound, “I’ve got a credit card, I can fly First Class, or whatever. If I need to take a bloody rocket ship, I’ll do it, okay? My mother⎯” Your words catch in your throat as you swallow the lump that’s started to form, your lower lip trembling slightly. “She was in a car accident. She⎯I don’t know what state she’s in, or if she’s okay. I just need to get to her. Please, I⎯”

“I was told to come to this desk for information on my jet,” a voice cuts in, the regal accent slicing through your emotional pleas like a sharp knife. You don’t even have time to turn around before the man starts speaking again. “The tarmac from which it will depart has been changed. I require this information immediately, if you will. Time is of the essence.”

Anger swirls into your sorrow as you whip around, your jaw clenched and your eyes red-rimmed. You must look like a mess, your bun falling out in certain areas and dark circles displaying just how exhausted you are, but there are more pressing matters on your mind.

The man in question is handsome, his three-piece Italian suit showing his immense wealth. Along with his gold watch and shined leather loafers, you don’t doubt that he is probably important. But tonight, that doesn’t matter.

“Look, buddy,” you say, trying your very hardest not to spit the words at him, “you’re gonna wait your turn. I’ve been standing here for three  _fucking_  hours trying to sort this shit out.” You sound almost manic, your words deepening into the beginning of a sob as you feel the tears reappear. “If you think that you can just walk up here and get what you want just like  _that_ ⎯”

“If you wait just a moment, sir, I will have those details ready for you,” Sharon says. You turn around once again, hopelessness filling you to the brim as tears begin to fall. You manage to reign in your voice, though, as you lean on the counter. Thankfully, Mr FancyPants has taken a few steps back to give you your obviously much-needed privacy.

“Please.” You hate to beg, but you find yourself with no other option. “It’s Christmas, Sharon,” you continue, clenching your jaw and sniffling. “It’s fucking⎯my mom is dying for all I know, and my dad is all alone with her...I just, I need to be with them.” Words now a whisper, you thump your forehead on the desktop as you inhale a shaky breath. You’re tired, you’re scared, and you just want to fucking  _go_.

Sharon doesn’t seem to care.

“Sir, your jet has been relocated to Tarmac Three. I’m sorry for any inconvenience.”

With a nod, you bite your lip and lift up your duffle bag, heaving it over your shoulder and pushing off the counter. Maybe you’ll have better luck later, or with a different attendant; you suppose that arriving sometime in the next few days won’t be too bad. Your mother is only seriously injured and your father heartbroken and lonely, but it will be  _fine_.

For now, you decide that you need a nap. Or a coma.

Walking to the only free spot you can see⎯an area by the wall where nobody else has left their bags or taken a seat⎯you drop your bag to the ground and sit on it, leaning against the hard wall. It’s not exactly the comfort of your mattress, or even of an aeroplane seat, but it does help you to relax a little.

Sliding out your phone, you dread the voice on the other end of the phone as you hit ‘dial’, holding the phone to your ear and your face in your hand. It picks up after two rings.

“ _Hey, sweetpea,_ ” the voice greets, each syllable sighed out in exhaustion. “ _When are you arriving?_ ”

You gulp down the lump in your throat, sitting up again and resting your head back on the wall, your eyes closed. “I, uh. Dad, I can’t make it. Not yet.” Your lip wobbles at the silence. “The planes⎯they’re all booked out. My car is completely dead, there are no busses travelling to Virginia over Christmas time...I just, I can’t. I am so sorry. I wish I could be there for you; for both of you.”

There’s more silence on the other end, and you just  _know_  that he’s trying not to cry. But you can hear the waver in his voice when he replies, “ _It’s alright, honey. You just get here when you can, we’ll be alright._ ”

You bite your lip as another tear rolls down your cheek. They won’t be alright, and you know it. You both know it. “How is she,” you manage to mutter, putting all of your efforts into not having a full-on emotional breakdown in the middle of the airport, a sea of strangers bearing witness to your despair. “Is it...Was it bad?”  _The accident_ , you mean, but you can’t say the words aloud. Doing that would solidify the fact that it had actually happened; maybe, if you deny it for as long as possible, you’ll turn up and she’ll be perfectly fine.

“ _Don’t worry yourself, Y/N,_ ” he says softly, his words like a comforting hand on your shoulder. “ _She’ll be fine, you know she will. She’s a strong woman, your mother._ ”

You nod to yourself, breathing deeply. You want to believe him, you really do, but if she would be ‘fine’, then why had he not answered your question?

“I’m sorry, dad, but I’ve got to go,” you mumble, wiping your eyes. “I’m wrung out, and I’m about to fall asleep on the airport floor. I’ll talk to you when I’ve figured out what I’m doing, okay?”

“ _Alright, sweetheart,_ ” he replies. “ _I’ll see you soon, hey? We’re not going anywhere, I promise you. I love you so much._ ”

“I love you too, dad,” you whisper. “Can you⎯if she…”  _If she wakes up, tell her I love her._

Your dad seems to know. He always knows. “ _Mom knows you love her,_ ” he assures you. “ _We both do. But you can remind her yourself, because there is no ‘if’. She_ will _wake up, and she will smile at us, and in no time we’ll be in our cabin in the mountains. How does that sound?_ ”

You nearly sigh at the warming thought. “Yeah,” you say. “That sounds nice.”

After another round of goodbyes, you hang up the phone and drop it into your lap, leaning your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. Your tears have dried, the overwhelming sadness now replaced by a numbness that feels heavy in your chest.

“I could not help overhearing,” a familiar voice says from in front of you, making you jump and quickly raise your eyes. It’s the man from before⎯Mr Custom Suit and Rolex⎯standing with his hands in his pockets. “You are attempting to travel to Virginia, yes?”

You’re stunned for a moment, thoughts flying through your mind a mile a minute.  _Why is he talking to you? How much had he overheard? Is that his delicious cologne you can smell?_  Finally, you shake away the stunned look on your face and settle on words that you hope don’t sound offensively confused. “Um, yes?” You wince at the delivery. “I mean, uh, yeah⎯Norfolk.”

The man has warm, dark eyes as he looks down at you, and seems far less condescending than he did at the desk earlier. Perhaps it’s the lighting, or the fact that your emotions have calmed down now. You mentally berate yourself for trailing your eyes over the sharp angle of his jaw.

“Well, I may be able to assist with your...predicament,” he says delicately, nodding towards the desk where you had first bumped into each other. “You see, I have a private jet set to land at the Richmond airport tonight. Perhaps you would care to join me.”

You’re slightly gobsmacked at the suggestion, finally ignoring the protest of your aching muscles as you stand up, nervously twiddling your fingers. “Um, thanks, sir, but I really don’t have the money to afford a private jet ride,” you say. Though you had offered your credit card to Sharon earlier, you know, deep down, that your accounts are bled dry. “Thanks, though.”

“Nonsense,” he says, shaking his head. “You needn’t worry about payment; I will not be inconvenienced at all. In fact, I insist. I would like for you to accompany me on my jet.”

This is too good to be true. A private jet to the exact state that you’ve spent hours trying to go to? With a (clearly) wealthy, not to mention extremely handsome man who just so happens to be kind enough to offer no expense? Either he’s a serial killer, or he was manufactured in a lab.

“That’s very generous.” You decide against voicing your doubts on the off chance that he is, in fact, there to kill you. “Do you mind me asking why you’re offering?”

“It is Christmas,” he answers simply, the slightest of shrugs lifting his shoulders. “I observed your desperation to get a last-minute flight, which suggested some sort of emergency. That, coupled with the tears and frustration, told me that something bad had happened; something that required you in Virginia as soon as possible. Please, correct me if I am wrong.”

For a moment, you’re silent. You don’t know who this man is, or why he’s being so kind to you, but you find yourself warming up to him. There’s something about his eyes, chocolate-brown pools of kindness, that make you want to get closer. To learn more about this mystery man. “It’s my mom,” you mumble, swallowing thickly. “She got into a car accident. She’s in surgery as we speak, and my dad’s in the hospital by himself. I just…”  _I’m scared_ , you want to say.  _I’m fucking terrified that something is going to happen to her, and even more frightened that I won’t be there when it happens._

“I understand,” the man says, and you can see it in his eyes: he’s seen death. He’s experienced loss. “Please, I would like to help you. You need not reimburse me; consider this a gift.”

Your mouth decides before you can properly think it through. “Okay,” you blurt, your heart hammering as you say it. “Yeah, alright, I’ll go on your,” it feels weird to say it, “private jet. Thank you...” You realise that you haven’t even asked for his name, and you trail out your words in question.

He lifts the corners of his lips in a small smile as he gathers your bag up for you. “Elijah,” he says, holding out his hand for yours. “And you are very welcome⎯”

“Y/N,” you finish for him, smiling back.

As you begin to follow him to his jet, your emotional-rollercoaster of a day ends in a smile.


	2. Chapter Two ⎯ The Jet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you’re having the worst day in existence, a stranger saves your day and changes your world.

Caramel leather armchairs line the walls of Elijah’s jet, plush carpet softening each footstep as you follow the man further into the large aircraft. The roof and wall panels are lined with dark, glossy wood, the same material used for the tables and cabinets. With a large, grey couch up against one wall and a flat-screen hanging in the corner, this jet oozes luxury.

* * *

 

“Wow,” you find yourself muttering, your breath caught at the absolute beauty around you. “When you said you had a private jet, I didn’t realise you meant  _Air Force One_.”

Elijah lets out a soft chuckle at your words, turning around to face you with a small smirk. “I can assure you,” he says, “no President has ever stepped foot on this aircraft.” He pauses for a moment, pointing a finger in realisation. “No  _American_  President,” he corrects.

“Ah, of course,” you nod, completely in awe of this man and his plane. “So, what are you, exactly? A politician? A lawyer?” You wait for a dramatic second. “A secret agent?”

“A businessman,” he simply answers, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Standing by an armchair, he picks up a bottle of George T Stagg that sits waiting for him, two whiskey glasses set aside. You eye the expensive bourbon, the deep orange-gold colour nearly making your mouth water. Elijah sees your interest and nods towards the second glass. “Would you like a glass?”

You’re nodding before you can properly think it through. “Do you have any coke?” Your cheeks tint pink out of embarrassment, and you don’t really know why. Do you want to impress him? “I’m not really a straight whiskey kind of gal.”

The uptick of Elijah’s lips has you blushing further, and you stand awkwardly as he nods, walking towards a mini fridge and bending down to retrieve a can of cola. You definitely do  _not_  watch the way his pants stretch around his backside as he does so.

As he returns with the can in hand, you try to come up with some sort of conversation to quell the silence that hangs in the air. “I’ve never tried Stagg before,” you say, nodding towards the bottle.  _I’ve never been able to afford it._

“Well, I am glad to be able to provide this service,” Elijah replies, pouring both of your drinks. “This particular bottle is a fifteen-year, so it will make quite the first impression.”

You stop your eyes from bugging out at the information. Fifteen years old? This bottle must’ve been  _pricey_. “Uh, wow.” Do you sound too bewildered? “I think the most extravagant whiskey I’ve ever tried is, um,” you’re a bit embarrassed to say it, “Old Crow. But, when you’re drunk in a college basement, anything tastes like gold.”

Much to your surprise, Elijah doesn’t seem disgusted by your history of cheap whiskey; instead, his half-smile looks proud. “Then I am doubly honoured to be able to introduce you to this marvellous drink. Please, take a seat.”

You follow his eyes to the plush couch opposite him, the cushions beckoning you to sink into them and allow yourself to be engulfed in comfort. Eyeing the space, you bite your lip. You’re a smart woman⎯it’s one of the only things going for you, really⎯so you should be seeing red flags everywhere. A strange man has invited you to his private jet with no other souls on board (aside from the pilots), and has insisted that you don’t pay him back. He’s vague when talking about himself, he is a seemingly important man (if you allow yourself to believe that he has had Presidents of foreign countries aboard his plane), and he’s drinking budget-breaking whiskey, for god’s sake. Warning sirens should be blaring in your mind right now.

But they’re not.

For some reason, you feel comfortable in his company; like you know that he won’t do anything untoward. There’s a certain sense of security in his warm gaze, assuring you that this is a completely innocent interaction. You don’t feel that way about many men⎯in fact, you’re quite unlucky in the relationship department⎯but, for some reason, this man strikes you as...safe.

Dropping your bag on the floor beside you, you slowly sit on the couch, not allowing yourself to lean back into its enticing embrace just yet. You watch as Elijah pours coke into your drink, handing the glass to you sheepishly. “I am afraid that I do not have a mixer,” he says, and you take the cool glass from him, your fingers brushing against his. You shrug, adjusting your hold.

“That’s okay,” you reply. And then, with his eyes still on your hands, you take one of your fingers and use it to mix your drink. Ice clinks against the glass, the fizz of the soda filling the silence as you finish; pulling your finger out, you put it into your mouth, licking the liquid off. You don’t even realise until you look up at him that Elijah’s been watching you the whole time. “Thanks,” you mutter, bringing the lip of the glass to your mouth. It certainly smells like the most expensive drink you’ve ever had, and you can’t wait to taste it.

But you’re going to wait for him to drink first. You may feel safe, but you’d be foolish to assume that the bottle hasn’t been tampered with in any way. Elijah seems to notice your hesitation.

“You do not need to be afraid,” he says, turning his dark eyes to you. You nearly get lost in them, forgetting yourself for a moment as you stare into the dark abyss of his eyes. “I can understand why you may feel discomfort, but rest assured that my intentions when inviting you onto this plane were completely pure.”

His eyes briefly flicker over your figure as he speaks, the dilating pupils betraying his words. You don’t see this, though, as you stare at your feet. Your heart rate is increasing, but you put it down to being nervous about the situation. “Thank you,” you mumble, nodding as you bite the inside of your cheek. “For, um, everything. You’ve kind of saved my life.”

“Perhaps you could thank me by getting comfortable. I would hate for a guest of mine to be anything but at ease.”

You ponder his words, your body making a decision before you even have a chance to think it over. You’ve been working since four o’clock this morning, your day becoming busier and busier and preventing you from taking a proper break in your twelve-hour shift. When you got the call from your dad at the end of it, you’d gone straight to the airport, relentlessly trying to book a last minute flight. It’s 8:30 now. That’s over sixteen hours that you’ve been on your feet.

Yeah, maybe you’ll get comfortable.

Shifting slowly, you lean back into the couch, your body sighing in relief as the plush cushions ease the tension in your muscles. Closing your eyes, you hum in exhaustion, feeling sleep pull at your limbs and weigh down your eyelids. But, no matter how safe you feel around this man, you won’t allow yourself to fall asleep. Not when he’s the only other one here.

Opening your eyes, you see him smiling at you.

“Better?” He’s sitting on the armchair opposite you, taking his own advice and getting more comfortable. You can only nod in response, your muscles suddenly too tired to even speak. He nods to your attire. “Long day?”

You look down at your blue scrubs, the material crumpled from a long day of work. If you’d had time to stop at your apartment before going to the airport, you would have changed; maybe even taken a shower. But, the urgency of the situation had you leaving straight from the hospital, taking only the bag of things that you had with you.

“You could say that,” you say slowly, sitting up slightly. You bring your feet up onto the couch, tucked under you. Your fingers play with the condensation on your glass. “Twelve hour shift.”

“That is very admirable,” Elijah says, and you somehow know he’s being honest. “I have great respect for those in your profession. Are you a nurse?”

“Medical resident,” you inform him. Your bourbon and coke swirls around, and you lick your lips.

“Very impressive,” he replies. “May I ask at which hospital?”

You look back up at him, seeing nothing but pure curiosity. “New York-Presbyterian.”

“And is this at the Columbia or Cornell branch?”

“Columbia.” Your cheeks grow red in embarrassment; you hate to talk about your academic achievements, especially the fact that you graduated from an Ivy League school. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“No big deal?” Elijah looks into the swirling liquid in his glass. “You should never downplay your achievements,” he says, finally looking up at you once again. “Once you are graduated, what is it you wish to become?”

“A surgeon,” you say, nodding awkwardly. “Um, more specifically, a trauma surgeon. You know, emergency stuff.”

The corners of his mouth lift into a subtle smirk. “You must do well under pressure,” he says, and you begin to remember your near mental-breakdown at the airport, flushing in hot shame.

“Look, about what happened back there,” you say, realising that you still haven’t left the tarmac yet, “I’m not usually…I don’t usually freak out like that. I was just⎯”

“I understand completely, Y/N,” he says, and you feel a shiver as he says your name.  _Goddamnit, pull yourself together, woman. Your mother is in the hospital_.

A buzz in your pocket pulls you from your thoughts, and your heart starts pounding when you see it’s a text from your dad. You open it without hesitation, your hands already beginning to shake.

‘ **Mom’s out of surgery. All good, only a few broken bones. No need to worry. Love you, honey.** ’

You nearly cry out in relief.

Elijah, seeing your expression, raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “Is everything alright?”

Your smile is wide as you nod, quickly typing out a reply before putting the phone back in your pocket. “Yeah. My mom just got out of surgery, and my dad says she’s fine. God, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved.”

Elijah’s smile nearly matches yours, and he holds his glass up towards your own. “I think that this is cause for celebration,” he says, raising his brows. He wants to clink your glass.

You don’t hesitate to do so.

“To good health,” he toasts, “and good fortune.”

“Cheers.” The powerful engine of the jet rumbles to life beneath you, and Elijah smiles apologetically.

“I am sorry that we could not leave sooner,” he says, sitting back down on his armchair. “This is perhaps the busiest night of the year.”

You suddenly remember what night it is. “Oh my god, it’s Christmas Eve,” you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips. “Merry Christmas, Elijah.”

“And Merry Christmas to you, Y/N.”

You look into each other’s eyes as you both take a sip, and you try to force down the blush that is slowly creeping its way up your neck.

**⎯⎯⎯**

You’re not exactly sure how you got into this position, but you’re not complaining either.

Two glasses and half an hour in, Elijah has taken a seat next to you on the couch, his arm stretched over the back with his hand resting by your head. Somewhere in that time, your feet have migrated onto his lap, your entire body sitting sideways as you face him, a giddy smile playing on your lips.

“Okay, but seriously, this Klaus guy sounds like a handful,” you say with a hint of a laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” is Elijah’s reply. One of his hands is settled on your leg, drawing patterns with his fingertips unknowingly. “I am quite sure that he would be in prison right now if I was not around to reign him in.”

“That sounds like a lot of responsibility.” Your tone has grown softer as you gaze up at him. “Have you ever done anything just because you  _wanted_  to?”

“There are many things that I want to do.” The heat of his hand sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip as it begins to slowly work up to your knee. “But...we cannot always have what we want.”

The whiskey is buzzing in your system, lighting up every nerve inside of you and lowering your inhibitions. From this angle, you can see the light stubble that hugs his sharp jawline and the way his hair is beginning to fall out of place after a long day. He’s discarded his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you can easily see the veins in his hands and forearms. Your eyes linger on the way he’s touching your leg, his long, thick fingers tracing random patterns against the fabric of your pants.

When your eyes flicker up, you see that he’s already watching you, and you flush. “You are very beautiful, Y/N.” His words stop your heart for a moment, your lips slightly parted as your blush deepens further. He sees your surprise and looks down. “I apologise, I did not mean to offend you.”

It takes you a moment, but you finally shake your head. “No, you didn’t,” your mind scrambles for the right words. “I just...I can’t remember the last time anybody ever said that to me.” You finish your sentence with a chuckle to play it off, but it’s not lost on Elijah, who clenches his jaw.

“Well, that is a sin in itself.” His voice is gruff, his eyes dark as his hand slips under the fabric of your pants, his fingers now tracing over your ankle. “A woman such as yourself should never be allowed to forget. Your boyfriend does not tell you every day?”

You bite your lip. “No boyfriend.” You don’t know where your next words come from. “Not in a very long while.”

Elijah’s still watching you, his hand travelling ever-so-slowly up your leg, the material moving up with him as he goes. “Forgive me if I do not believe you,” he replies, his near-black eyes on yours. “It is not possible that nobody has attempted to be with a woman as stunning as yourself.”

His compliments are making your heart flutter, his hand on your skin warming your entire body. “It’s not that,” you murmur in response, “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now. They don’t always work so well.”

Elijah hums in understanding, his hand now at your knee again. “I can understand completely,” he says. “I, myself, am not looking for a relationship at the moment either. ‘Emotionally unavailable’, I think they call it these days.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Heat runs through you as his fingers brush your lower thigh. “Which sucks, you know? Because I’m not a one-night-stand girl, but I’m not into committed relationships right now. So it can get frustrating; finding a good lay without emotions or commitments.”

After pausing for a second, you realise what you’ve just said; what you’ve just  _blurted_. You blame it on the alcohol⎯you’re not used to drinking such strong, good quality whiskey⎯but you know deep down that it’s not true. It’s the mixture of his hand on your skin and his body so close to yours; it’s his rugged yet put-together appearance, his perfectly tailored suit hugging his thick muscles deliciously. It’s the absolute kindness that he’s shown you thus far, saving your day and lifting your spirits. He has been nothing but a gentleman, and you  _love_  gentlemen.

Before you can go back and correct yourself, Elijah’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “I absolutely understand.” You hang on to every word as he speaks them. “Between work and my family commitments, it is hard to find personal time. It can indeed become frustrating.”

Your breath hitches as his confession settles over you, and a thought pops into your head. You’re  _just_  tipsy enough to act on it.

“You wanna know something I hate?” You watch him carefully as his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. He shakes his head, urging you to continue. “Debt. I don’t want to owe you anything for this ride, Elijah.”

His eyes settle back on yours. “I already told you that I do not need, nor want, your money. This is a gift.”

“And I don’t have money to give,” you add. “But...I could pay you back another way.”

As Elijah furrows his brows in confusion, you set your glass down on the coffee table beside you, slipping your legs over the edge of the couch. Slowly, you shift your body closer to his, your hand softly settling on his upper thigh. When he realises what you’re suggesting, he swallows thickly. “You do not need to, lovely Y/N,” he whispers hoarsely. “I did not invite you onto this jet to seduce you.”

“I know.” You smile sweetly at him, slowly massaging his thigh beneath your hand. “But I want to. If you want me to.”

For a moment, he merely watches you, his adam’s apple bobbing as he thinks over your proposal. “I think that I would first like to kiss you,” he says, his hand coming up to caress your jaw. His thumb brushes against your lips, and you lick it into your mouth, sucking on the pad of his thumb. Elijah groans as you do so, and you feel his bulge thicken, your hand instantly drawn to it. With his thumb in your mouth and your hand rubbing him through his trousers, Elijah is soon panting with lust-blown eyes. “You are a truly magnificent creature.”

You let go of his thumb with a pop, smirking at him. “You can kiss me later,” you whisper, sinking to your knees in front of him. “Right now, I want you in my mouth.”

Elijah’s breath hitches at your words, and he bites his lip as you begin to undo his belt. He is becoming painfully hard, and he wants nothing more than to see your pretty lips wrapped around him. Still, he is a gentleman. “Are you sure?” He doesn’t sound convincing even to himself, but he continues nevertheless. “I do not want you to think that you are obligated in any way⎯”

You shut him up by opening his trousers and pulling his thick cock out of his briefs. It’s absolutely beautiful; the head, blushing pink with need, has a bead of precum that makes your mouth water. There’s a vein travelling up the underside of his long shaft, his hairs neatly trimmed. Wrapping your hand around the base, your fingers barely wrap around the entire girth, and you can feel him throbbing in your grip. Looking up at him through your lashes, you see his half-lidded eyes fixated on where you hold him.

Bracing your other hand on your thigh, you begin to slowly pump him, working him up gradually and feeling him harden even more as you do so. His tip is growing red with want as it leaks precum, and you can’t help yourself; you lean forward and wrap your lips around him, your tongue collecting the salty liquid.

Elijah moans loudly when he finally feels your tongue on him, and his hands move to gather your hair behind you. His hips twitch as you slowly take him further, inch by slow inch, and he refrains from thrusting his entire length down your throat. You notice the way he holds back, and you take away the hand the grips him, moving it to rest on your other thigh. Pulling back slightly, you hold your mouth open, the head of his cock resting on your tongue.

When Elijah sees what you’re suggesting, he pulls himself from your mouth. “Sweet Y/N, I would never do such a thing to a woman so lovely,” he breathes, his cheeks flushed.

You merely stare him straight on, settling back on your knees. “Take your payment, Elijah,” you say softly, licking your swollen lips. “I want you to. Please.”

These words seem to flick a switch inside of him, because his gaze suddenly hardens, one of his hands returning to your hair. “Oh, I see. You aren’t sexually frustrated because of a lack of opportunity; but rather because nobody has been able to give you what you want.” When your eyes twinkle in agreement, he smirks. “What is it you want, Y/N? I do not think that you merely wish to be  _fucked_.” His words send jolts straight to your core, and you whimper. “You want to be taken. Controlled. You want to be  _dominated_.”

You can only give a tiny nod as he speaks, because he is completely right. Nobody you’ve ever been with has completely satisfied you, because they have been the most vanilla experiences of your life. You want something rougher. Dirtier. And you have a feeling that Elijah can give it to you.

“Very well,” he continues, stroking himself in his hand. “Open your mouth.” You do as he says, your tongue sticking out slightly. Standing up, Elijah looks down at you as he rests the head of his dick on your tongue. “You will take all of me, do you understand?” You nod. “If at any time you need to stop, you will tap my thigh three times. But I have a feeling that you can take it. Am I right?”

You nod again.

“Good girl.”

Those two words have you clenching around nothing, and you nearly cum where you’re kneeling. You manage to hold it back, though, as Elijah’s grip on your hair tightens. As he slowly inches himself back inside your mouth, you close your lips around him, using your tongue to circle his head and then trace the vein of his cock. He hisses at this, his eyes nearly closing at the sensation.

“You take me so well,” he groans. “Just relax.” And then, after you do as he says, he thrusts the rest of the way in, hitting the back of your throat and then moving further. You can’t even gag around him, he’s that deep, but you sit still as he holds himself there, a long, rumbling moan slipping past his lips. Your nose is pressing against his pelvic bone, and his balls are against your chin; he is buried to the hilt inside of you, and you absolutely love it.

After a few long moments inside your throat, Elijah finally pulls back, taking himself out of you completely so that you can suck in some much-needed air. You cough a few times, tears reflexively rising in your eyes, before you clear your throat, opening your mouth once again.

A deep groan escapes his lips. “Where have you been all my life?” This time, he’s not so rough when he pushes into your mouth again.

Hands gripping each side of your face, Elijah slowly begins thrusting into your mouth, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat before he pulls back again, slow and sensual. He doesn’t push as far as he did the first time, instead slowly moving in and out, his length shining with your saliva. He’s being gentle, you realise. Being careful. You don’t want that.

Hollowing out your cheeks, you  _suck_ , and his hips stutter into you as he presses himself down your throat once again. Biting his lip, he looks down at you, noticing the smirk that you have around him. Shaking his head, he chuckles. “Very well. You want it rough?” You respond by humming around him, the vibration in your throat making him hiss. “Then rough you shall receive.”

He takes in one deep breath before he starts thrusting harder.

Moving your head to meet each movement, you’re practically soaking through your pants, your hands coming up to grip his thighs. You want him so badly; you want him buried so far in your pussy that you can feel him in your stomach. You want him to bend you over the table and fuck you from behind, or slam you against the wall and hike one of your legs over his shoulder as he pounds into you. You want him so badly.

But fate has other plans.

The sound of a faint chime comes from above, and the pilot’s voice breaks through your horny cloud. “ _Please stay seated as we prepare for landing_.”

Elijah pulls himself from your mouth, his eyes apologetic. “I am deeply sorry, Y/N. I would love to return the favour, but⎯”

“It’s alright, Elijah,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. With your thumb, you wipe away a strand of stray spit that hangs from your lip. “Please, let me finish you. I wanna taste your cum.”

Elijah’s groan is filthy as he nods, lining himself back up with your mouth. There’s an urgency, now; a time limit. And you’re only more turned on.

This time, your hands grip his ass, fingers digging into the round flesh as you pull him further into you. Humming around him, you take control as you alternate your movements; you suck, and then you lick. Suck, lick. Suck, lick. As you do so, you ensure that he can hear every time you gag around him, his balls tightening against your chin. He’s close.

Taking one hand away from his ass, you begin to fondle his balls, massaging him as you suck him into oblivion. By the way his grip on your hair tightens and his thrusts become uncoordinated, you know that he’s about to cum.

Pulling back, you sit on your ankles once again as you hold your tongue out, pumping him in front of you with a tight grip. Above you, Elijah is watching your every move, his groan guttural at the way you aim him into your mouth. It’s when you do a particular twist-pull motion that he finally lets go.

His cum is warm as it spurts into your mouth, his orgasm strong and prolonged. He groans as he empties himself inside of you, painting the walls of your mouth as you happily take it. When he finishes, growing soft in your hand, you swallow his load and lick him clean, listening to his moans as you touch his oversensitive cock.

Clean and spent, Elijah tucks himself away and then bends down to pull you to your feet, holding you to him. “I truly am sorry that I could not return the favour,” he whispers, his cheeks pink and his skin glowing. “How long will you be in Norfolk?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, playing with a button on his shirt. “I can’t afford to stay away from work for too long, so I guess only a few days.”

He ponders this for a moment. “Could I have your phone number?” He raises his brows hopefully, his fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. “I would very much like to take you to dinner.”

You feel yourself sighing. Out of happiness or disappointment, you aren’t sure. “I told you that I’m not ready for a relationship right now.” You bite your lip, feeling sadness weigh you down.

“And I told you that neither am I,” he replies. “Please, I would never allow a woman to do what you just did for me and then not treat her to dinner. If nothing else, it would be a thank you.”

Your chuckle is giddy, and you smile up at him. “What, thank you for sucking my dick?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles back. “I’ll give you my number,” you continue, poking his chest, “but the dinner isn’t a guarantee.”

“Alright.” Elijah’s eyes are twinkling as he gazes down at you. “I can very much live with that.”

“And if the dinner  _was_  a thing,” you say, raising your brows, “it wouldn’t be at some five-star restaurant, okay? The cheaper, the better. I like Korean barbeque.”

His smirk is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

Leaning into his embrace, you trace your fingers over his jaw. His lips look so perfect right now; so damn kissable. You just want to lean up and tug one between your teeth…

As you begin to lean up on your toes, you feel the plane move as it begins its descent towards the ground.

You and Elijah both detach from each other as you take a reluctant seat like directed; while he straightens himself up and puts his jacket back on, you fix your hair and wipe your chin, shy eyes avoiding his. You want to say something to defuse the tension, or even to lighten the mood a bit, but all you can think of now is getting to the hospital and seeing your mother.

Closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath. This has been one interesting fucking day.


	3. Chapter Three ⎯ The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you’re having the worst day in existence, a stranger saves your day and changes your world.

No matter how many showers you take⎯painfully hot or achingly cold⎯you can’t seem to wash Elijah away.

As you stand under the spray, massaging soap into your tense muscles, you find your mind wandering back to the man on the jet. His strong hands on you, fingers tangled in your hair. The way he felt in your mouth, weighing on your tongue; you can still taste his hot release on your lips, silken and salty as you swallow it with a smile...

This is your fourth shower of the morning.

Sighing into the steam, you nearly rub your skin raw as you try and rid yourself of the sinful thoughts. You shouldn’t be thinking about a man you’ve only encountered once; who you got on your knees for and willingly invited down your throat. You flush in shame at the vivid memory that plays behind your closed eyelids, the picture in perfect clarity, and you flush deeper when you realise that you would do it again in a heartbeat.  _Want_  to do it again. He is stuck in your brain, sizzling hot at the forefront of your mind, and you just can’t shake him.

But you have to.

Your mom may have avoided critical and life-altering injuries, but she’s still hurt, lying in a hospital bed and unable to move. She’s been in a traumatic event, and she needs her family. She needs you. So, with the water rushing over your head, you allow it to cleanse your thoughts. Because you are a strong, independent woman for Pete's sake; you don’t get this affected by a single man. No matter how extraordinary he may be.

You have to let Elijah go.

**⎯⎯⎯**

There’s a bounce in your step as you enter the Norfolk General Hospital. You’ve slept, you’ve showered, you've eaten, and you’re currently holding a steaming cup of coffee in your hands; all reasons to be happy. But, most of all, you’re about to see your parents, face-to-face, for the first time in nearly a year.

It’s not hard to navigate your way around⎯the hospital terrain is your natural habitat⎯but you feel yourself walking slowly as you make your way to your mother’s ward. Every time you pass a wall-mounted hand sanitiser, it’s instinct for you to go and pump copious amounts into your hand; when you hear different code alarms, your muscles twitch to spring into action and assist, before you remember that this isn’t your hospital. It seems that, even when you’re away, your heart is always pulling you back to the job that you love.

By the time you make it to the room labelled ‘Y/L/N’, you want to go home. And you feel terrible about it.

Lightly knocking on the door, you use your hip to nudge it open, smiling at the two figures inside. “Hey,” you whisper, holding up the cardboard holder that is nursing all of your coffees. “Sorry it took so long, there was a guy in line whose coffee order was so long it was written on a page.”

“It’s no trouble, sweetheart,” your mom says softly, smiling warmly from her bed. “I am so glad to see you, Y/N. I’ve missed you so so much.”

Clenching your jaw, you blink away the mist in your eyes. “I’ve missed you too, mom.” The coffees are long forgotten on the table beside you as you lean in to hug her, the feel of her arms around you warming you up from the inside out. “God, I was so worried,” you mumble into her shoulder, squeezing her as tight as her injuries allow. “Seriously, never do anything like that ever again. You hear me?”

“I hear you.” She pulls away with a few tears watering her eyes, and she leans back into the hospital bed. “I think your dad and I might take a break from travelling for a while.”

You finally get a good look at your dad as she speaks, and you notice how dishevelled he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes, his salt and pepper stubble is more like scruff now, and his hair is sticking up at every angle. He’s tired, and he’s worried. Your heart breaks a little.

When you engulf him in a hug, it nearly knocks the wind out of you, and you realise just how much you’ve needed this. To see them. “Hey, dad,” you whisper, for his ears only. Your face is buried in his sweater, and you inhale his familiar scent. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

“You’re here now, pumpkin.” His voice vibrates in his chest. “Thank you so much for being here.”

You pull away slowly and with a small scoff. “Believe me,” you say, your tone laced with humour, “this is a major inconvenience for me. There are so many other places I would rather spend Christmas, but I guess that this will do.”

Your mom’s gasp has you turning quickly, and you see guilt cross her features. “Oh my goodness, it’s Christmas! I’m so sorry sweetie, I completely forgot. I hate to ruin Christmas for everyone.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” your dad replies. “We’re all together as a family, that’s all that counts.”

Nodding in agreement, you let out a deep, slow sigh, before your eyes land on the coffees on the table by your mom’s bed. “Oh, yeah! I got you both a coffee; I hope your orders haven’t changed since last time I saw you.”

You steadily hand them out, grabbing yours as well and placing your phone down where the cup holder once was. Your dad rolls his eyes playfully, blowing into the lid. “Darling, our orders haven’t changed a single time in your entire life. I think we’re pretty safe.”

“Right, how could I forget; you both exclusively drink black coffee. I still don’t know how, or why, you would do that to yourself.”

Your mom takes a dramatic sip, humming in pleasure when she swallows down the hot liquid. “Ah,” she sighs, directing her shit-eating grin towards you, “the beautiful taste of bitterness. It’s the best way to wash down the souls of the damned that I consume daily.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, unable to help your smile.  “So, on another note, what have the doctors said about when you can leave?” As you speak, you allow your eyes to run over her, assessing her visible injuries. One of her arms is in a sling, and she has a butterfly bandage on her forehead; her right foot is encased in a cast, the red material bright against the white bedspread. Your eyes flick back up to hers and add, “Christmas in the hospital isn’t very festive.”

The disappointment on her face is enough of an answer. “They say that I’ll need to be here for another twenty-four hours for observation,” she says, shrugging as best she can with her good shoulder. “I’ve got a cracked rib that they want to monitor, and they also want my blood pressure to go down.” She notices the worry that knits your brows together, and she shakes her hand. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. I’ll be out of here before you know it, and we can go to the mountains again.”

As your face relaxes and you nod, a knock comes from the door and a nurse smiles into the room, holding a large bouquet of flowers. “We’ve got a delivery for you, Mrs Y/L/N!” She steps in and hands the bundle of beautiful white carnations to your mother, whose smile is so wide that you can’t help but to smile as well. You look at your father, who you assume is the one who ordered them, but see confusion mixed with his happiness. So, if he wasn’t the one to buy them…

“Merry Christmas,” your mom reads out, holding the note attached to the flowers, “and wishing you a speedy recovery. Yours, E. Who is ‘E’?”

Your heart stops. Could it be who you think it is?

The nurse is still in the room and smiles awkwardly at everyone. “I was also asked to give this to a Y/N...is that any of you?”

You can only nod numbly as she hands you a square, velvet box the size of your hand, watching as she says a polite farewell and leaves the room. Your mind has gone blank as you look down at the box, biting your lip. You know what it looks like⎯it’s the size and shape of a necklace box⎯but you can’t form a coherent sentence to explain it to your parents.

“Well, open it, honey!” Your mom is more excited than you are, and her voice snaps you back to reality.

Without a word, you open the lid of the soft jewellery box, expecting to see something with at least a little shine, knowing the budget of the man you think has sent this. Instead, you see paper.

‘ **Beautiful jewels for a beautiful woman. Join me for dinner tonight?  ⎯ E** ’

A deep blush rises up your neck as you lift the note, careful not to crumple it as you set it aside. And, sure enough, the pieces underneath catch the light in the most mesmerising way. Lying on a black, silk cushion and drawing a gasp from your lips is an intricate [diamond necklace](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/43/48/ee/4348ee0b75ce05b7a8200b805d54363c.jpg), the multiple teardrop pendants glinting as your eyes shift over it. Inside the circle of the necklace is a pair of diamond, studded earrings that perfectly match the cut of the other gems. As you take in the pure beauty of the jewellery, your heart races. There isn’t a doubt in your mind who these came from.

“Well?” Your mother’s expectant voice cuts through your daze, and you look up to see her brows raised in question. “What is it?”

“Um,” you quickly shut the box before either of them can see what is inside, smiling to cover your embarrassment, “it’s nothing. Just a...Christmas present.” Your fingers stroke the cardstock that the note is written on, each letterpressed word making your heart flutter.

There’s a look on your dad’s face⎯a raised brow and a slight tilt of the head⎯that tells you he doesn’t buy it, and you quickly look to the ground. You aren’t very well about to tell them that it’s an insanely expensive gift from the guy you gave a blowjob to only hours ago.

“C’mon,” you mom urges, wiggling her eyebrows. “I know a jewellery case when I see one; what did you get?” When you don’t meet her eyes, she scoffs. “Honey, I am in a hospital bed. Can’t you give your mother a little bit of joy?”

Smiling, you shake your head at her. “Low blow, mom.” You don’t know why there’s so much trepidation buzzing within you as you slowly open the lid, but you chalk it up to the fact that you’ve never seen something so extravagant in your entire life.

Apparently, neither have they.

The gasp that your mom lets out is so loud that you nearly jump, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you quickly close the box again. “Who’s it from?” Your dad’s inquisitive question has a suggestive tone. “Somebody we need to meet?”

“No, dad,” you assure him. “It’s from nobody. I’m going to give it back next time I see him.”

“And when is that?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh, eyes flicking to the note.

Before you can do or say anything more, your phone starts to ring on the bedside table, the single word ‘Elijah’ flashing on the screen. “Is that the mystery gift-giver?” Your mother sounds far too excited. “Ooh, how exciting! You have to invite him over, I’d love to meet him!”

“Mom, calm down,” you hiss, hastily picking up the phone and staring at the screen. Your blood is pumping in your ears and a thin layer of sweat is forming as you listen to the ringtone. He’s calling you; he wants to talk to you. Biting your lip, you nod to the door. “I’ll be back in a sec,” you mutter, ducking out and pressing the ‘accept’ button before the ringing can end. “Hi.” You don’t mean to sound as breathy as you do, but you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you.

On the other end, Elijah sounds quite the opposite. “ _Good morning, sweet Y/N_ ,” he says, his voice strong and sure. His confidence is so attractive that you feel yourself biting down harder on your lip. “ _I do hope that my gifts found their way to you. Is your mother well?_ ”

For a moment, you open and close your mouth in search for the right words. “Uh- yeah, she’s great. A few broken bones, but she’ll be fine.” You take a deep breath. “And, yeah, the gifts got here. The flowers are beautiful, she really loves them. Thank you.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “ _I’m glad to hear that. And my gift for you? I was assured that it would be delivered with the highest priority. I apologise that I was not able to hand it to you myself_.”

You’re pacing in the hall, one hand shoved in your pocket. “I got it, Elijah.” You sigh loud enough for him to hear. “I just- I can’t accept it. It’s beautiful, it really is, and I truly appreciate the gesture, but it’s far too much.”

“ _Well, I do not wish for it back. You would do the diamonds far more justice than I ever could_.”

“I know, but I can’t have jewellery like that hanging around the place when I’m practically drowning in debt; it’s like some cruel reminder that I could never afford something like that for myself.” When you hear yourself say the words, you cringe. “I’m sorry, I sound so ungrateful. I really do love them, Elijah. They’re probably the most beautiful pieces of jewellery I’ve ever seen. I just…”

“ _You hate debt_.” The understanding in his voice surprises you. “ _Y/N, I never want you to feel indebted to me. I have money to spend, and I would like to spend it on you. If you would let me_.”

This is so much to take in, and you find yourself walking to a waiting chair in the hall and slowly settling into it, your mind racing. You know what you think he’s suggesting, but you’ve never really thought about the concept before. “And what would you want from me in return?” You aren’t nervous when you ask, but curious.

“ _Your company_ ,” he simply states. “ _What we shared in the jet is not something that I wish to happen only once. We both live and work in New York City, and we both have highly stressful jobs; we both have_ needs _. I believe that we can be mutually beneficial to each other_.”

Your entire face is blushing red, you’re sure. Swallowing thickly, you mindlessly play with the hem of your sweater as you think. “Mutually beneficial, huh?” The corners of your lips quirk up of their own volition. “I’ll admit, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. About...you.” You’re talking about the jet, and he knows it.

Elijah’s voice sounds a little deeper when he replies. “I am guilty of the same,” he says. “ _My hand will never feel the same as your mouth. I could never replicate the way your tight throat took me so well, the way your moans vibrated through me_.”

Okay, you’re pretty sure those words just made you soak through your underwear. Deciding to play along, you look around you to make sure the coast is clear. “I can still taste you,” you mutter, your breaths becoming ragged. “Every time I lick my lips, it’s like I can feel you in my mouth again. God, you tasted so good.”

His groan is deep and practically vibrates through your phone. “ _Are you alone?_ ” He’s breathing heavy, his voice strong.

“No, I’m at the hospital.”

“ _Find a bathroom_ ,” he nearly growls, and your heart rate picks up as you quickly search for one. The nearest one to you, much to your elation, is a single-use room that you quickly lock yourself inside of, arousal flooding to your core.

“Okay, I’m alone now.”

“ _Good_ ,” he says. “ _I do not have much time, so we must be quick. Can you be a good girl for me, Y/N?_ ”

“Yes,” you breathe, looking at your wrecked self in the mirror.

“ _Take off your pants_.” His demand is strong, but there’s something underneath his words that sounds a lot like desperation. Stepping out of your jeans, you stop yourself from going to rub your clit through the material of your underwear. “ _Now, look at your panties. Describe them to me_.”

A shiver runs through you as you follow his instructions, lifting your sweater to see the material that clothes your heat. “Lace,” is the first word that shudders through you, your thighs pressing together. “Black lace.”

Elijah hums, and you almost whimper at the sound. “ _I wish we had been able to finish our time together in the jet_ ,” he says, low and raspy. “ _I wish I had been able to finish you_.”

Your question rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. “What would you have done?” Your fingers rest at the hem of your panties, twitching to get closer; to relieve some of the building tension. “If we’d had more time.”

“ _I would have made you cum three times before I fucked you_.” You moan loudly at his words and quickly clasp a hand over your mouth to silence yourself. “ _First on my thigh_ ,” he continues, and you’re panting now, “ _then with my fingers, and then, when you couldn’t say anything other than my name, I would have devoured you with my tongue_.”

“Fuck, Elijah.” You have to brace yourself on the sink basin, your thighs clenched impossibly tight together. But it isn’t nearly enough; you need to touch yourself. To feel something inside of you.

“ _I would start at your clit_ ,” he adds, and you swear you hear his hand rubbing against fabric. Is he- god, is he palming himself through his trousers? “ _Flick my tongue over the sensitive bud a few times. It’ll be practically raw by now; you can feel every movement, every taste bud on my tongue. And when I pull it between my teeth...you’ll nearly cum just from that. But I won’t let you._ ”

In the time that it’s taken for your fingers to snake down the front of your panties and begin mimicking his words⎯playing with your clit in exactly the way he’s describing⎯you notice that he’s changed tenses. He’s no longer telling you what he  _would_  have done, but instead what he  _will_  do.

“ _Your legs will be over my shoulders, my hands on your hips. You’ll be able to feel my stubble against your soft thighs, rubbing your skin red for you to feel tomorrow. Would you like that, Y/N?_ ”

“Yes.” Your finger presses into your clit, and you cry out in pleasure, buckling over as your legs already begin to shake. You cling to the phone for dear life, never wanting to stop listening to him. “Please, I-”

“ _You are an impatient one, aren’t you?_ ” There’s amusement in his voice, but you can also hear a small grunt as he adjusts in his seat. You have no idea where he is, but the thought of him in a crisp suit, his big, strong hand stroking his thick bulge sends a pulse straight to your pussy, your walls fluttering around nothing. “ _But, you took me so well earlier, your pretty throat stretching around my cock. I think I want to reward you_.”

“Please,” you repeat, the air sucked right out of your lungs. “Please, I need to feel you.”

“ _Very well_.” There’s a moment of silence, and then you hear a zipper. Oh, fuck. “ _Skip the tongue; I’ll pull you up from the couch and press you against the wall, your face pressed into the wood and your hands above your head_.” Without thinking, you walk to the wall of the bathroom and press yourself right into it, the entire front of your body touching it as he continues speaking. “ _I’ll use my foot to spread your legs⎯just a little bit⎯and then I’ll pull your hips back so that you are pressed against me._ ”

You arch your back, imagining his crotch pressed into you. There are more rustling sounds from his end, and you picture him pulling his length out of his boxers, biting your lip so hard you almost draw blood.

“ _You’re already soaking wet from your two orgasms, so I barely need to get you ready_ ,” Elijah says, and you can hear the restraint in his voice. 

“Elijah,” you breathe, heart pounding as you repeat a notion you had said to him on the jet, “don’t hold back.”

You hear a faint ‘fuck’, and then his harsh breath. “ _I’ll take myself in my hand and line myself up._ ” You touch the tips of two fingers to your entrance. “ _And then, in one stroke, I will fully enter you_.” You do as he says, thrusting the fingers inside of you without any buildup, and you cry out as you are finally filled. Elijah, too, groans loudly as he finally begins stroking himself, and that picture alone has you climbing higher to the edge.

It’s as if words aren’t needed anymore; now that you are both finally touching yourselves, you can’t multitask with speaking. But you aren’t mad, because the mental vision that he’s already cast is enough to build you up.

You’re pressed against the wall, your naked body hot against the cool wood, and Elijah is still fully clothed behind you. His hands hold a tight grip on your hips, pulling you back into him as he thrusts, hard and deep, inside of you. Moaning isn’t enough; you need him to know how good this feels. How good he feels. So, arching your back further, you clench around him.

“Oh, fuck, harder,” you moan out, your eyes clenched shut as you feel him stretch you, his dick slamming in and out with wild abandon. You’ve both waited so long for this. You can’t hold back.

“ _I’m going to bend you over_.” Elijah’s voice fills your head, his words intoxicating. “ _Your hands will be on the floor, and I will lift your legs from the ground. I will fuck you upside down, my cock driving down into you from above. Can you handle that?_ ”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” you breathe, altering the angle of your fingers. You’ve never considered  _handstand sex_ , but the way he says it, the way his words paint a perfect picture in your mind...your juices are dripping down your hand. “Jesus- Elijah, fuck, I’m close.”

“ _Hold on. You are not allowed to come yet, do you understand me?_ ” You nod in reply, unable to form proper words anymore. “ _I’ll set you down now and press you into the floor. From here, I can see the way your ass moves every time I sink into you. I can see the dimples at the bottom of your spine when you arch up into me._ ” Elijah growls, and you know that he’s close, too.

You can see it: you’re on your elbows and knees, Elijah wrapped around you as he roughly slams into you, his balls hitting your clit with each movement. Each time you clench, you move a little closer to your orgasm, tiny stars appearing in your vision as your whimpers become more high pitched. “Please, Elijah, I wanna- let me cum. Please.”

“ _Do it. Cum, Y/N. Cum all over those pretty fingers of yours. Scream my name so that everybody knows who it is that makes you feel this way. Do it._ ”

Using one hand to play with your clit, sparks of electricity jolt through you, and you hear Elijah’s groans grow louder as he, too, cums. You’re right there with him, your finger brushing against your g-spot, your lower stomach muscles tightening as your body grows numb, about to cum-

A knock at the door crash-tackles you away from your orgasm, and you nearly cry in frustration. On the other end, Elijah is coming down from his high, confused by your angry utterances of “Jesus fucking Christ, really?” and “Give me a goddamn break”.

“ _What is it, Y/N?_ ” Elijah is obviously half zoned-out, but his genuine concern warms you. “ _Did you-_ ”

“No,” you say, jaw clenching. “Somebody interrupted me. I swear to god, I’m going to explode.”

“Hello? Is everything okay in there?” You don’t care about the voice on the other side of the door as you stand up on shaky legs, your oncoming orgasm slowly dying down and your frustration rising in its place.

“ _Dinner, tonight_ ,” Elijah says, finding his voice once again. “ _I do not care what I have to do, I am going to see you again, and I am going to make sure that you do not go without another orgasm. That is a promise_.”

You hold the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you wash your hands. “Is it a restaurant? Because I don’t know if I can sit through a social setting like that while wanting to jump your bones.”

“ _Even better than a restaurant_ ,” he replies. “ _My place, in a town called Mystic Falls. I will send a driver to pick you up_.”

There are a few loose strands hanging over your face that you quickly fix up, but other than that, you look pretty good. Flushed and desperate, but good. “You have a deal,” you decide. “But Elijah, if you think that we’re going to be doing any eating…”

“ _Trust me_ ,” the smile is back in his voice, “ _I plan to feast._ ” 

And just like that, you’re already aching to see him. To touch him. To taste him. To feel him.

You’re addicted to Elijah.


	4. Chapter Four ⎯ The Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you’re having the worst day in existence, a stranger saves your day and changes your world.

Midnight-black silk hugs your frame, the soft fabric draping elegantly over your smooth skin and glowing in the soft hotel room light. As your eyes slowly assess the dress⎯from the delicate spaghetti straps that sit upon your lithe shoulders to the cowl neck that dips low into your cleavage⎯you wonder how on earth you could ever afford such a garment.

Turning away from the mirror, you twist your neck to look at the back; tucked away and out of sight, the tag of the dress remains intact so that, after the night is finished, you can return it to the store. You make a mental note not to get it dirty.

Excited isn’t the right word for how you feel right now, your fingers nimbly securing the straps of your black high heels; your entire body is buzzing with unexplainable energy, your nerves tingling at the very thought of seeing the man who has occupied your every thought. You can still remember every detail of him, but you’ll be sure to commit him to memory tonight. If this is the last time you’ll ever see him, you want it to count.

A buzzing beside you brings your eyes to your phone, the screen flashing with letters that read ‘ **MOM** ’. The word usually makes you feel warm inside⎯like you’re in her arms as she squeezes you in a tight hug⎯but right now, you only feel the cold blanket of dread.

“Hey,” you answer, tearing your eyes away from your guilty reflection. Before she can say anything, you add, “Are you sure this is okay?”

She sighs, light and airy and full of love. “ _I wouldn’t have said it was if I didn’t mean it._ ” You bite your lip, because you know she’s right. “ _And besides, it’s Christmas! I would much rather you have dinner with a handsome stranger than stuck in a hospital because of me. You have fun, alright?_ ”

“We went over this,” you chuckle, “he’s not a stranger. I met him on the flight over here.”

“ _Right. And you expect me to believe that a man who bought you jewellery from Tiffany’s would sit in economy?_ ”

“I never said that. Look, just⎯” You sigh when you see the time. “The driver’s gonna be here any minute, so I’ve got to go. You and dad have an awesome night, okay? But don’t get too wild, you’re still recovering.”

“ _Yes,_ mom _,_ ” she teases. “ _I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetpea. I wanna hear all about Mister Rich Man._ ”

You roll your eyes at the name but smile nonetheless. “Every detail,” you promise, and hang up.

**⎯⎯⎯**

The air outside bites at your exposed skin, and you wrap your coat tighter around your frame as the chilly breeze picks up. You aren’t waiting too long before a set of headlights break through the dim night, a flashy limousine pulling up in front of the hotel.

Stepping out and walking towards you with a smile is a man who looks no older than fifteen.

“Evening, ma’am,” he greets, his puppy eyes sparkling as he extends an arm. “My name’s Josh; Elijah sent me to pick you up.”

You nod as he speaks, taking his arm as he guides you to the car. Elijah had mentioned the name of his driver, as well as the license plate number of the car that he sent. You’re glad that both match. “Thank you,” you reply with a small smile, “but you can call me Y/N. I’m not old enough to be a  _ma’am_  yet.”

“Of course.” The door opens, and you slide into the back as gracefully as you can, careful not to crumple your dress. Josh rounds to the driver’s seat and hops in, turning on the car to get the heat going. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” he says, adjusting the volume of what seems to be a smooth jazz cd. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

“No, not at all. It was kind of nice.” As you say this, you pull your coat tighter, a shiver threatening to run down your spine. “So, how far away is this Mystic Falls? I can’t say I’ve heard of it before.”

“It’s about an hour’s drive from here.” You’ve pulled out onto the road now; this car drives so smoothly, you barely even noticed it. “But I know a few shortcuts, so we should get there in about forty minutes.”

You grow curious, and can’t stop your question from tumbling out of your lips. “So, how long have you worked for Elijah?”

“Few years.” You meet his chocolate-brown gaze in the rearview mirror. “Pretty much ever since I dropped out of college. So, I guess about five years now.”

“Five years?” You hold back a comment about how young he looks. “Is he...a good employer?”

Josh smiles knowingly. “The best,” he replies honestly. “He took me in when I had nothing, and he’s taken care of me ever since. Makes you want to be really good at your job, you know? I can’t imagine working for anyone else.”

Your lips involuntarily quirk up, and soon you’re grinning giddily. Rich and handsome are two traits that you could take or leave, but kind? You conclude that Elijah isn’t a man at all, but rather a robot manufactured by looking at the dreams of women everywhere. That is the only explanation for how absolutely perfect he is.

“So,” you try to make light conversation, “what should I expect tonight? Is he a champagne or a wine guy?”

Josh chuckles at this. “Strictly bourbon, I’m afraid,” he replies, and you hum as you remember the expensive bottle in his jet. “Champagne on occasion,” he continues, “but hardly ever wine. He’s not really...how do I say it⎯”

“Romantic,” you offer, and he nods.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. Candles and soft blankets aren’t really his style.”

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you contemplate his words; you and Elijah have both discussed your desires for a no-strings-attached deal⎯you’d specifically agreed on leaving emotions out of it⎯but does he truly not have a soft spot? You suppose that it doesn’t matter.

You’re not driving an hour out of your way to  _cuddle_  with the man.

Josh reads your silence as doubt, and he quickly chimes in once again. “I mean, that being said, he’s a thoughtful guy. He’ll always cover the bill, he gives a gift to every one of his employees on their birthdays, and he visits every children’s hospital in the state every year with new grants. When it comes to women he’s just...guarded.”

“The way you’re talking him up, it sounds like I’m going to have dinner with the Pope,” you joke.

“The Pope wishes he could be as cool as Elijah.”

And for the rest of the drive, you settle into a comfortable conversation with your new friend.

**⎯⎯⎯**

When the limousine rolls to a stop, you’re surprised that it’s been forty minutes already, and you’re slightly upset that you can’t continue your conversation about Josh’s boyfriend, Aiden. But, when you turn to glance outside, you let out an audible gasp.

You were expecting a house, but this is a  _mansion_.

Though it’s dark outside, you can see the light stonework that extends high up, two storeys of precise craftsmanship creating a clean, seamless facade. Floor-to-ceiling windows allow light to stream out, the entire place looking ethereal as the front gardens are bathed in a warm glow. And, to top it off, it’s snowing.

You may have underdressed.

Goosebumps are already rising to your skin as Josh exits the car and walks around to your door, and you brace yourself for the inevitable cold when he finally opens it, helping you out. You immediately shiver, and he holds an arm around your shoulders to guard you against the wind as he walks the few steps from the car⎯which you now notice has pulled into a round driveway⎯to the door, his gloved hand pushing the doorbell.

When the door opens, your breath catches in your throat, and you’re thrown back into the reality of the night; you’re here to see the man in front of you.  _He_  wants to see  _you_.

Fuck. It may be cold out here, but you’re flushing.

Elijah’s eyes quickly glide over your figure before settling on Josh, to whom he sends a small smile. “Thank you very much, Joshua. I will inform you when I need you again.”

“Of course, sir.” You notice the way Josh formally addresses Elijah now, his playful demeanour forgotten. He smiles at you, nodding politely. “It was nice meeting you, ma’am.”

“You too, Josh,” you mumble softly, sending him a small wave as he begins walking back to the car. Hand on your elbow, Elijah guides you inside and promptly shuts the door, the cold air now trapped outside. Before you can utter another syllable, though, he’s pushing you against the door, standing only inches away as he looks down at you. You shiver under his gaze.

“Here is how tonight is going to go,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Never, in my life, have I withheld my end of a deal. However, it has happened twice with you; twice now, you have provided for me and I have not been able to do the same. That is going to change.”

You can’t do anything but look into his eyes and nod, squeezing your thighs together. You’re not sure if it’s the central heating or the way he’s slowly leaning into you, but you’re suddenly very warm.

“We are going to get even.” His words alone have you biting your lip as his own brush against the shell of your ear. “Then, and  _only_  then, I will fuck you until the only word you remember is my name. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe, swallowing thickly. He’s so close, you could move forward slightly and his lips would be on yours. But you don’t. You don’t, because he hasn’t told you that you can.

“Good.” He steps into you, his body pressed against yours. “Because I have not been able to stop thinking about burying myself inside of you all day.” A whimper escapes your lips as his mouth descends to your neck, his fingers moving to the lapels of your coat. “I already know what your mouth feels like.” He slowly moves your coat away, pushing it down your shoulders. “But now I want to feel your cunt. Tell me,” the coat drops to the floor, and your skin prickles as you’re exposed to him, “could your pussy grip me the same way your throat does?”

The moan you let slip is quiet and strangled, and you have to close your eyes for a moment to collect yourself. “Yes,” is all you can answer. “Better.”

“Hm, we will see.”

And then Elijah pulls back, a foot of space now between you. You finally get to take in every delicious detail of him; he’s wearing a black button-down, the sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows. With no tie and the top button loose, he looks like a god, his warm skin glowing under this light. Your eyes slowly trace downwards, drinking in the sight of his veined forearms and strong hands; the way his ring sits on his right middle finger. His pants⎯black trousers that fit him like a glove⎯hug his ass in a way that makes you want to bite the flesh; sink your fingers into it as he pounds into you. His thick legs are strong, the muscle inviting you to sit and  _grind_ , and his feet are clad in polished loafers.

As you finish your once-over, you notice that he’s only just started his.

You watch as his dark eyes land on your chest, where the sparkling diamond necklace hangs around your neck. You’re wearing the earrings, too, but it’s the necklace that draws his attention; that then directs it lower, into the dipping neckline of your dress and to your alluring cleavage. He swallows, his eyes darkening, as he notices another small detail.

No bra.

A mixture of the cold weather and his intoxicating words have your nipples hard, and you know that he can see them through your dress. You see the way he’s transfixed by the outlines of your breasts, and the way his hands twitch to touch them. But he doesn’t. Instead, he continues looking; he takes in the entirety of the dress⎯the way it hugs your curves and flatters your frame⎯and then moves to your legs. Despite the weather, you chose a dress that lands mid-thigh, your smooth legs on display for the man in front of you. And he appreciates it, too, if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by.

“You are a minx,” he says, his voice so low that you nearly don’t hear it. “Follow me,” he takes your hand in his, pulling you away from the door. “I think it’s about time that we even our score.”

**⎯⎯⎯**

You can’t say that you’re surprised by the bedroom that Elijah leads you into.

In the middle of the room, with a dark, wooden frame that looks strong and sturdy, sits a king-sized bed wrapped in a plush, charcoal-grey duvet. There’s not much else in there besides a dresser and side tables, but you figure that he doesn’t need the room for anything else.

Behind you, Elijah’s hands find your hips, his strong grip holding you in place as he pulls you into him. Lips ghosting over your shoulder, you can feel his length pressing into your ass, and you hold back every instinct to just press yourself back into him.

“You are going to take off the dress,” he commands smoothly, hands sliding lower, “and then you are going to lie on the bed with your legs hanging over the edge. Do you understand?” You nod, breathless, but this displeases him. Turning you around, his fingers grip your jaw and hold your face up, his eyes boring into yours. “Do. You. Understand.”

“Yes.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, and his hold on you loosens. “Good girl.” And then he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge in this position, and you want to just stand there and stare; take in every ripple of muscle as he moves. But instead, you take in a breath and move your hand up to to one of the thin dress straps, inching it down your shoulder.

You’ve never strip-teased before⎯your sexual experiences have always been more ‘tear off your clothes and throw them across the room with wild abandon’⎯so it feels strange to be revealing yourself to Elijah so slowly. To have his gaze on your body as you move has you feeling slightly self-conscious; does he usually get women to do this? And if so, how could you possibly compare?

Your second strap drops, and Elijah’s biting his lip. Okay, so it seems as though he’s enjoying it. That means you’re doing something right.

With a coy smile, you allow the dress to fall down your body, pooling at your feet in a soft flutter of fabric. Now, all you’re wearing are your black heels and the glimmering jewels Elijah gave you.

“Oh, you  _are_  a naughty girl.” He steps forward, arms unlinking and hands flexing as he takes in your naked body. “I like to unwrap my presents. You will remember that for next time.”

The promise of a  _next time_  makes a blush rise up your neck, and you bite back a smile as he steps closer, still assessing you. For some reason, you don’t feel vulnerable under his gaze. You feel admired. Beautiful.

“You are stunning,” Elijah says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you follow the movement hungrily. “A work of art.”

Your skin prickles as he steps closer, just out of reach but close enough to see the darkening of his eyes.

“Get on the bed.” His voice is strong and commanding, and you instantly do as he says, sitting on the edge and then lying back as instructed. Your heart begins to beat faster as he stands at your knees, the fabric of his pants brushing against your skin. “Spread your legs.” Ever so slowly, you open yourself up to him, the air against your wet core making your shiver. “Good girl.”

And then he’s on his knees, his warm hands on the tops of your thighs. You can’t see him anymore without awkwardly bending your body up, so you can’t see what he’s doing, but you’re fairly certain that he’s drinking in the sight of your most intimate area. And god, that turns you on.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your inner thigh as his lips trace the soft skin. “Have you cum at all since last night?” Your mind flashes back to the jet, and you realise that you’ve only known Elijah for a  _day_. The way tingles are running up your legs, it feels as if you’ve known him for a lifetime. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you forget he’s asked you a question.

Elijah is quick to remind you.

You let out a surprised yelp when Elijah rolls you onto your stomach, your hips at the edge of the bed and Elijah between your legs. A hand comes down roughly on the skin of your ass, and you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. The sharp sting of the slap still lingers when you hear Elijah’s low growl. “When I ask you a question, you will answer it.”

Another slap to your other cheek, and you moan this time, already feeling the red mark rising upon your flesh.

“Now, I will ask you again. Have,” he spanks you, “you,” another spank, “cum?”

“No,” you answer breathlessly, burying your face in the comforter. And it’s true; you haven’t had a single orgasm in these past two days. Not in the jet, not at the hospital, and not any time between. You’re so close to orgasm that these spanks alone could send you over the edge.

“Not even on your own fingers?” You shake your head in answer, because you’re not sure if you can form words right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N. From now on, I am the only one who will make you cum. Do you understand?”

His hands are soothing your stinging ass, strong fingers gliding over each cheek gently. “Yeah,” you breathe, partly in reply to his question, and partly because of how good his hands feel on you. You’re putty under his touch, melting with every slow stroke of your skin.

“You have been so patient for me,” he mutters. “I think it’s time to pay you back, hm?”

You can’t even voice your enthusiastic agreement before you feel his tongue licking a broad strip up your core.

The cry that comes from your lips is so loud, so pornographic, that you don’t even recognise your own voice; to finally feel Elijah’s tongue where you’ve needed it most is so blissful that you don’t even care what you sound like.

Elijah mumbles a low, “Delicious” before he begins lapping at your soaked pussy, the tip of his tongue occasionally flicking over your clit as he goes. He’s eating you out as if you’re his last meal on Earth, and your legs are already shaking. You’ve been on the edge for so long, desperate and needy.

Which is why, as soon as his tongue dips inside of you, your thighs are squeezing around him as you come with a high-pitched moan, your orgasm ripping through you in waves. Elijah persists, licking you through your high as you slowly come down, before finally flipping you over again, gazing at your fucked-out face.

You want to say something⎯to maybe thank him for finally easing your tension⎯but you’re interrupted by his sly smirk. “That is one,” he reminds you, sinking to his knees once again. “We are not even yet.”

If not for his hand holding your hips down, your legs would have flown up when his tongue licked your swollen clit, sparks of pleasure shooting through you to your fingertips. “Oh, fuck,” you moan, your hands flying to Elijah’s hair. Fingers curling around his brown locks, you’re soon tugging at the strands, your thighs clamping around his head as he slowly kitten-licks at your over-sensitive clit, each movement making your toes curl.

As you squirm underneath him, Elijah patiently moves his way down to your entrance, lapping up the juices of your previous release and humming against you. You want him inside of you so badly that your walls flutter in beckoning.

“Please,” you whisper, the sound strangled. “ _Please_ , Elijah.”

You can feel his lips smirk around you, his tongue never quitting. “Please  _what_?”

“I...” You inhale deeply, the air seemingly sucked out of your lungs. “I need you inside of me.”

“As you wish.” When he slides his middle finger in, you moan soundlessly, your voice caught in your throat. When he starts thrusting, it comes back.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes screwed shut. “ _God, yes_. Please, give me more.”

Elijah obliges, adding another finger.

It feels like you’ve gone forever without a man inside of you, and the truth of that is obvious by the way you’re so quickly coming undone just on his fingers. Thick and strong, they stretch you better than your own ever could, reaching deeper than you could ever dream.

As he pumps his two fingers inside you, Elijah keeps his mouth busy on your clit, teasing and sucking the bud until you feel a familiar tightening in your lower stomach. You’re close, once again, but it’s not enough.

“Another.” You can feel his smile at your request. “Please, Elijah, give me another⎯ _oooohh, fuck!_ ”

When he slides a third finger into your dripping pussy, it sends long pulses of electricity straight through you, your core clenching impossibly tight as you climb higher and higher. Elijah, sensing your impending orgasm, adjusts his position.

And then, as his teeth graze over your clit, he begins pounding his hand in and out of you.

The speed, the thickness, the sensitivity; it’s all so much to take in at once, and your vision goes white as your second orgasm tears through you, setting your nerves aflame. You trap Elijah’s fingers as you clench around them, your pussy pulsing as you cum long and hard, crashing violently over the edge. It’s the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced, you know that much.

As your muscles relax and Elijah pulls his fingers out of you, a blanket of exhaustion weighs over you, and you can’t do anything other than lie there. Two mind-blowing orgasms in such a short period of time has taken everything out of you.

You don’t know if you’re up to a round three.

Lifting your head slightly, you see that Elijah isn’t at your knees anymore, and you panic; has he realised that he doesn’t want this, with you, anymore? As doubts and worries cross your mind, you’re put to ease when Elijah returns with a wet cloth and a kind smile.

Sitting on the bed beside you, Elijah pulls you up so that your head is resting on the pillows, your entire body sighing in relief at how comfortable this bed is. And then, as gently as he can, he begins to clean you up.

You whimper a few times at how sensitive you are, but you’re grateful that you can no longer feel your own sticky release on the inside of your thigh.

Biting your lip, you give him a guilty smile. “I don’t know if I can take anymore tonight…” He had talked about how much he had wanted to fuck you, but you’re completely spent.

Elijah doesn’t look disappointed, like you expected, but rather understanding. “I know, sweet Y/N,” he says softly, brushing your hair out of your face. He starts to unfasten your heels from your feet. “It was never my intention to go further tonight. I did not give you two orgasms so that I could fuck you immediately afterwards; I did it because I owed them to you. You deserved them. I would not dampen that by asking for sex. Tonight was about you, and you alone.”

You’re blushing again, but this time it’s because, as dominant and hard as he is in bed, he is a true gentleman everywhere else. To know that he sees you as more than just a sexual object for his own pleasure makes your heart warm.

“When we finally do it,” you say, your voice slightly hoarse from use, “we’ve gotta make a day of it. No more rushing.”

Elijah smiles down at you, nodding. “Of course.” His fingers brush over your temple, and your eyelids suddenly feel heavy. “Sweet dreams, lovely Y/N.”

**⎯⎯⎯**

When you wake up again, it’s pitch dark, and you’re covered in only a sheet. The space next to you is cold when you roll over, and you sleepily furrow your brows. You don’t remember falling asleep.

Sitting up slowly, you flick on the lamp and wince at the harsh light, squinting as you search for your phone. With no clock in the room, you have no idea what time it is.

As you look around you for the device, you notice a small piece of paper sitting on top of the bedside table. Neatly scrawled in ink, the message makes your heart grow heavy.

‘ **I’ve flown back to New York for a business emergency. Let me know when you arrive back, so that we can make a day of it. ⎯ E** ’

Sighing, you place the paper down and stand up on shaky legs, a dull ache between your legs reminding you of your prior activities. And, as you stretch, you notice a set of french doors at the side of the room, the moonlight illuminating the balcony that they open to. Wrapping the sheet around you like a blanket, you open the doors and step out onto the balcony, breathing in the fresh, cool air.

Above you, scattered farther than you’ve ever seen and shining their brilliant light upon you, the stars seem to be smiling⎯recognising your own glow to be as bright as theirs⎯and you feel your skin warm despite the night air that nips at your exposed skin.

You see a home in those stars, and you smile as you realise exactly who made that so.


	5. Chapter Five ⎯ The Hospital

Hot, bitter coffee warms through your entire system, and you sigh into the sip, closing your eyes as your body wakes up once again.

You’ve been back in New York for two days⎯four days since your night with Elijah⎯and, ever since your plane touched down, you’ve been cramming as many shifts as you can take. To say you’re struggling financially is an understatement; with medical school debts, New York City rental prices and your mother’s newfound medical bills, you’re barely staying afloat.

Which also means that you haven’t spoken to Elijah since you arrived.

His words still hang in your mind, telling you to at least  _text_  him that you’re back in the city, but you’re so stressed about money that you can’t even think about it. About him. No matter how many times your mind strays back to your night with that man, you always force yourself back into work.

With a sigh that stretches into a groan, you place a patient file on the counter before signing it and handing it to the receptionist. Technically, you’re not supposed to even  _be_  here; your shift ended three hours ago. But, after begging with the Chief and shedding a few forced tears, he’s allowed you to extend your twelve-hour shift into an eighteen. Great for your pocket, but not so much for your body.

“ _Please_  tell me you’re not still here.” You want to ignore the voice behind you, but you also know how persistent the owner is. So instead, you turn around with a sleepy smile that you hope is passing as genuine, and you internally sigh.

“Hey, Lexi,” you breathe. “Yeah, Grayson signed off on extending my shift. Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Your best friend isn’t buying your casual demeanour, and you curse yourself for ever befriending someone so inquisitive and,  _ugh_ , caring. “C’mon, why are you really here?” Her eyes scan over you quickly. “You look worse than half the patients.”

“Thanks,” you mumble in reply, stepping away from the counter to join her. The two of you start walking towards the emergency room, where you’ll be doing your rounds. “Look, all I can say is that I know why so many patients hate us,” you continue. “These medical bills are knocking me on my ass.”

“Let me help you, Y/N. Seriously, I want to.”

“No, it’s fine Lex, really. I don’t even mind picking up a few extra shifts.”

“A few extra?” Lexi scoffs. “I haven’t seen you leave this hospital since you got back. I’m gonna write you a cheque, and you’re going to deposit it into your bank account with no objections.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter. “You’re such a fucking Scorpio.”

“Okay, now  _you_  need to fuck off. You know I hate all that astrological bullshit.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not right,” you shrug, throwing your empty coffee cup into a bin as you pass it. “Hey, call me when you’re done your shift, I wanna talk to the landlord about that pipe in the bathroom but I need you with me.”

“I thought we were going to do that next month? There won’t be any plumbers available until after the new year.”

“Yeah, but the sooner we bring it up with Kev, the better.” Your eye catches the emergency room attending physician, who nods you over. “Hey, I gotta go. Call me, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lexi waves you off, and you roll your eyes. No matter what, you’ll always love your best friend. She’s an amazing coworker and roommate, but it’s her compassion and assertiveness that have won your heart; you can go from insulting each other to menial conversation in a heartbeat, and your friendship will stay as solid as ever. As the kids these days say, she’s your ‘ride or die’. She would kill you if she ever heard you saying that, though.

You make it to the attending and smile. “Hey, Jo. Got anything for me?”

Dr. Jo Laughlin runs her eyes over you, assessing your weary appearance. If she notices the dark circles under your eyes or the way you’re holding back a yawn, though, she doesn’t mention it. “Yeah, guy over there with glass in his hand,” she says, nodding over to where a man in a suit is sitting on a bed. “I just need you to clean him up, he shouldn’t need stitches.”

“Got it,” you nod, taking the patient chart from her. “Hey, you got any room for me tomorrow? I can take a shift as long or as short as want.”

“Y/N, no. You need to sleep; you’re making me tired just looking at you.” She sighs, her blue eyes softening. “Promise me that once you clock out, I won’t see you here for another twenty-four hours.”

“I would love to,” you say, “but I can’t. I  _really_  need this.”

There’s silence between you for a moment, before she closes her eyes and nods. “Okay, let me see what I can do. But seriously, Y/N, you’re killing yourself. You need to take it easy.”

You force out a smile, nodding in thanks, and then quickly walk towards the patient, quickly scanning through his file.

When you make it to him, you set the file down and give him a warm smile. “Mr Castle, my name’s Doctor Y/L/N. I’m just going to take a look at that hand of yours.”

The man, young and handsome, flashes you a brilliant smile. “Please, call me Lucien.”

“Lucien,” you comment. “How old-school. I like it.”

“Yes, well, my parents were old souls.” His charming smile never leaves him as you pull on some gloves and take his hand, doing an initial assessment of the wound. “I must say, you are possibly the most beautiful doctor I have ever laid eyes on.”

The compliment would make most blush, but you get this on a daily basis; men who feel it necessary to make a pass while you’re working have never impressed you. So, you ignore the comment, instead bringing over a floor-mounted magnifying glass. “Mr Castle, I’m just going to remove the pieces of glass from your hand, okay? It’ll pinch a bit.”

You take some tweezers and start pulling out the small shards, careful not to slice him further. He may be an entitled prick, but he’s still your patient. He surprises you, though, when he says, “I apologise if my comment was unwelcome. I did not at all intend to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Your smile is tight. “You’re not the first guy who’s felt the need to comment on my appearance,” you reply, “and you won’t be the last.” You’re  _just_  tired enough to add, “I’ll give you a little tip, Mr Castle: don’t flirt with women when we’re working. We’re just doing our jobs.”

Instead of being angry or lashing out, Lucien nods. “I completely understand, Doctor. Please forgive me.”

You sigh, taking out the last piece of glass. “Forgiven.” Taking away the tray of fragments, you come back with a saline solution. “I’m going to clean this up and then wrap it, but you won’t need any stitches.” To distract him from the pain of pouring saline over the open wound, you make small conversation. “So, how did this happen?”

“I was celebrating a successful business deal,” he informs you. “I suppose I was too enthusiastic, as the champagne glass shattered in my hand. I will surely remember to hold the glass by the stem from now on.”

Your only thought is,  _Elijah would never make that mistake_. But you quickly force it out of your mind as you retrieve a bandage. “Well, they say that mistakes are the best way to learn,” you say. “Maybe next time, try not to make mistakes that land you in the ER.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

You begin wrapping his hand, careful and precise, as he continues talking. Apparently, he isn’t great at taking a hint.

“Is it too forward of me to ask when you end your shift? Perhaps you would allow me to flirt with you when you are  _not_  working.”

You barely contain your sigh. “Yes, it is too forward,” you reply, though you keep your tone light. “I’m not available, Mr Castle.”

“Of course, my apologies once again.” He smiles, almost shyly, as he reaches into his suit pocket. “Here is my business card. When you become available again, give me a call. I would very much like to see you again.”

You take the card to be polite, shoving it into the pocket of your scrubs as you quickly finish dressing him. Then, grabbing the chart and avoiding eye contact, you gesture to his hand. “Change the dressing every day, and make sure to clean it. It should heal fine. Have a lovely day, Mr Castle.”

As you walk away from him, you throw his card in the bin.

**⎯⎯⎯**

You’ve got one more hour left of your shift, and you feel as though your body is shutting down. God, you need sleep.

Apparently, your Chief can see that.

“Y/N,” Grayson Gilbert says as he finds you at the reception desk. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“Sure thing, boss-man.” Under any other circumstances, you would  _never_  call him that. You’re nearly delirious with sleep deprivation, though, so it doesn’t phase you.

“You’re too tired to be working any more patients, so I need you to be a tour guide.”

“We bringing tourists on a walk-around?” You furrow your brows, heavily confused by the concept. “Why?”

“Not tourists.” He looks around briefly and then pulls you to the side, his voice hushed. “The CEO of Mikaelson Enterprises is visiting to see how his equipment is doing. I need you to show him around, explain how each one of his machines has helped the hospital. Sweet-talk him. We need him to like us.”

You’re lost for words, and you fumble around for a coherent sentence. “M-me? Why me? Why don’t  _you_  walk him around?”

“I’ve got a conference that I’ve had scheduled for months, and this visit is last minute. I know that you can do it, okay? You’ll be fine. Just,” he pauses, sees your half-lidded eyes, “maybe have another coffee. I’ll even pay you overtime for it.”

That changes your mind in a heartbeat. “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.” Nerves are already making you tremble. “Jeez. Mr Mikaelson himself, huh? What’s he like?” He’s never shown pictures of himself, let alone visited a hospital before. “Is he one of those old, creepy business guys?”

Grayson rolls his eyes. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve never met him before. I’m sorry that I can’t be there with you to greet him. Good luck!”

And then he’s walking away, leaving you confused and desperate for more information. You’ve got a job to do, though, so you head towards the cafe for another coffee in preparation.

**⎯⎯⎯**

You’re caffeinated, awake, and ready to kiss a high-roller’s ass. Your only worry is that you might see a little too giddy; heaven knows, you’re a big fan of Mr Mikaelson.

He’s supposed to arrive in ten minutes, so you casually wait in the reception area, chatting to the nurses behind the desk. They’re nice ladies, and they help to ease your nerves a little as you find yourself jittering in anticipation.

And then a voice calls your name from behind you.

Your entire body stills when you hear it, your heart thumping loudly against your chest as your blood pumps wildly, as if it doesn’t know where to go. You turn around slowly, expression stunned, and finally lay your eyes on the man behind the strong voice.

It’s Elijah. Of  _course_.

With quick steps, you make your way over to him, trying to ignore how handsome he looks. It’s only been four days since you’ve seen him, and yet it feels like a lifetime. “Elijah!” Your voice is squeakier than you would like. “What, uh, what’re you doing here?”

He stands tall and regal as ever. “I am receiving a tour of the hospital.” The dark brown of his eyes stays on you. “What are  _you_  doing here?”

Your breath has been punched out of your lungs as you make the connection. Elijah’s never told you his last name. You’ve never known Mr Mikaelson’s first name. But, if both men are here for the same tour, then that must mean…

“Elijah Mikaelson,” you breathe, looking to the floor. “Holy shit. You’re Elijah Mikaelson.” Suddenly, the reception area seems too small.

“I am.” He doesn’t seem amused. “You never answered my question. When did you arrive back in New York.”

Your eyes slowly travel back up, taking him in with a new light. His suit is perfectly tailored, his tie perfectly tied, and his jaw⎯sharp and angled and delicious⎯is perfectly shaved. This man is the CEO of the country’s biggest medical equipment creator, and you’ve just been casually fucking him. Well, not  _fucking_ , per se, but close enough.

“Two days ago,” you finally answer, gulping around the words. You can’t meet his eyes, because you know that they hold anger. “I’ve been meaning to call, but⎯”

“There is no need to explain,” he cuts you off. “If you would excuse me, I have a tour to partake in.”

You wince. “Yeah, um. I’ll be your tour guide. So.”

When you do look up, you see his clenched jaw and hard eyes, and you bite your lip. He’s mad. You suppose you would be, too, if you had asked somebody to tell you when they’re here and then they don’t. You want to explain everything to him, you really do, but he doesn’t look to be in a conversational mood, and you really need the overtime money for this tour. So, clearing your throat, you paste on a professional facade.

“If you’ll just follow me, Mr Mikaelson, I think you’ll be very pleased with this hospital’s facilities.”

And so the tour begins.

**⎯⎯⎯**

“And through here is the ICU, where most of your equipment is utilised.” You lead him into a relatively uncrowded area of the Intensive Care Unit. “This particular ward houses most of the trauma patients that come in through the ER, divided into the level of care needed. For example, brain-trauma patients need round-the-clock care, whereas, say, orthopaedic patients don’t need so much attention.”

“Interesting,” he comments offhandedly. He hasn’t met your eye since you started the tour. “And, where is it again that you work, Doctor Y/L/N?”

“I work primarily in the emergency room,” you mumble, nervously playing with your fingers. “But, sometimes I do surgery assists, or I take shifts in the ICU. It all depends on where I’m needed.”

“Hm. So, when you are asked to do something, you always comply. Because that is your job.”

“Exactly.”

“That is interesting indeed.” Elijah’s jaw is clenched hard. “Then what, may I ask, is your excuse for these past two days? I gave you a simple instruction, Y/N. And yet, you failed to comply.”

Looking around you, there are too many people; too many nurses who could easily spread this gossip throughout the entire hospital, until you’re fired for sleeping with the man who has made this hospital the best in the state, and one of the best in the country.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you grab his sleeve and pull him into a storage room, locking the door behind you. And then, you sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wanted to call, or text, or  _anything_ , but I’ve been working pretty much non-stop since I landed. I’m so far in debt that it’s a surprise I’m not living on the streets right now. And my parents can’t possibly cover my mom’s medical expenses, so I’ve got to pick those up as well, and I just really need to work, okay? So, I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry at all.”

Elijah waits patiently throughout your entire monologue, eyes never leaving yours. He still seems as angry as before as he slowly steps closer to you. “I understand that you may be struggling,” he says. “However, there was no question mark on the note I left for you; I was not  _asking_  you to contact me. It was an instruction, and you did not follow it.”

He’s crowding you into the door, and you thank your lucky stars that there are no windows into this room. The closer he gets, the more heat begins pooling between your thighs.

“In the future, when you are given a direction, you will follow it, do you understand me?” You nod, and there’s only an inch between you now. “Answer me.”

“I understand.” His body is pressing against yours, and you let out a shuddering breath when you feel his hard length press against your stomach.

“For four days, I have kept my hands away from myself,” he growls, his hands moving to your hips. “I have waited for you. I bought a ten- _thousand_  dollar bottle of whiskey for us to share in celebration of finally getting to be inside of you. So, from now on, you will  _never_  ignore me.”

You nod, breathless. You’re so wet it’s almost painful. “I’ll never ignore you.”

Elijah’s mouth is by your ear, but his lips never touch you. “Take off your pants and your panties.” You don’t hesitate to begin stripping them off. “I was going to make it special. However, I feel as though you should be punished for your behaviour.”

You’re half naked now, and your legs tremble as he sets his hard gaze on you. And then, you hear his zipper, and you whimper.

“I am going to fuck you against this door, and you are not going to make a sound.”

You’re biting your lip, because if you speak, you might let a moan slip out as well. So you merely nod, and this time he’s okay with it.

“Good girl.”

With one hand he takes your knee and slides it up his side, and with the other, he strokes his hard length. Your own hands find his shoulders, desperately searching for support, and your heartbeat speeds up as you feel him place himself at your entrance.

And then, he slides in.

He doesn’t need any lubrication⎯you’re so wet that you’re dripping down your own thigh⎯so he fully sheaths himself in one push, stretching your walls further than they’ve ever been stretched. Not only is he long, he’s also thick, so the burn of his cock is delicious as he grunts in your ear. After all of this build-up, you’re seeing stars already just from the feel of him finally inside of you.

“So tight,” he groans, holding you still. “Let’s see if we can’t change that.”

You barely hold back your moan as he slowly slides out, but you do let one out when he shoves back in, his hips slamming against yours as he thrusts up into you.

“I said to stay silent,” he says, low and husky, and you try, you really do, but he just feels too fucking good. You let out a whimper at his next thrust, and he stops altogether. “It seems you are not very good at following instructions.” Elijah pulls out of you, and you nearly let out another whimper. “Turn around,” he orders, and you do so, the front of your body now pressed against the door. He uses his knee to spread your legs, and he positions himself once again before sliding in.

As you start to moan again, his large hand closes around your throat.

You would moan at this feeling as well, but his fingers tighten ever so slightly, effectively silencing you. So, as he returns to slamming inside of you, you can’t utter a single syllable. The lack of air has your head spinning, and you clench around him as he speeds up.

The pace he’s setting is brutal, but you can’t help but feel even more turned on. You arch your back slightly, deepening his angle, and nearly cum right then when he hits your g-spot.

His hand loosens, and you take in a deep breath of air as he begins grinding his hips. “If you ever ignore me again,” he says into your ear, “I will not touch you for a week. No excuses.”

When you nod, his hand returns.

"Who’s pussy is this,” he grunts, and the feel of him sliding in and out has you speaking instantly.

“This pussy is yours,” you rasp. “All yours. Fuck,  _only_  yours.”

“Good.”

You’re so close to orgasm that you can feel your walls fluttering around Elijah’s cock, and it seems as though he can feel it to. Because the next thing you know, he’s pulling out once again.

“You were a bad girl.” His rough whisper sends a shiver down your spine. “Disobedient. And disobedient girls do not get to cum.” He turns you around again so that you’re leaning back on the door, your weak legs barely keeping you upright. “If you want to be a good girl, get on your knees.”

You drop so quickly that you’ve probably bruised your kneecaps, but you don’t care. You want to please Elijah, even if that means you yourself don’t get to finish.

“Open up,” he says, and you drop your jaw. “You’re going to swallow it all, do you understand?”

You nod, sticking out your tongue. When he places himself on top of it, you moan.

As your lips close around him and he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, you can taste your own juices, and you can’t help but hum around him as you eagerly lick them up. Elijah bites his lip as he watches you take him down your throat, your tongue making its own patterns as your head moves back and forth. He’s already so close to his peak that you don’t have to do much to work him up, but, when your hand reaches up to massage his balls, he spills himself down your throat, holding your nose to his pelvis as he comes with a low groan.

You wait for a moment, his softening cock still down your throat, before he finally pulls out, and you quickly swallow so that you can take in a breath.

Your nerves are buzzing as Elijah helps you stand up, your legs shaky and your lower stomach tight with your forbidden orgasm. Breathing heavily, you gladly lean against the door as Elijah once again crowds you.

“What are you doing on New Years Eve night?”

The question is so unexpected that you stand in stunned silence for a moment, unsure of how to answer. When his eyes urge you to speak, you lick your lips. “Working, I think,” you breathe. It’s hard to remember your work schedule, after what you’ve just been doing. “I think I pulled a night shift.”

“There is a charity gala that I am required to attend,” Elijah says. His tone is different; the anger is gone, and in its place is hopefulness. “Come with me.” You bite your lip in thought, but then he adds a soft, “Please.”

Your mind is made up before the word even comes out of your mouth. “Okay.” You can’t remember the last time you saw Elijah smile, but it’s truly a beautiful sight. The way his eyes crinkle at the corner, and the way the corners of his lips lift up. Like he’s shy to show his happiness, but can’t help it. It makes you smile.

“Okay,” he repeats, biting back his smile. “I will send you the invitation, and I will pick you up at eight.”

“Okay.” It’s the only word you can form over your erratic heart, and the two of you clean yourselves up in a comfortable silence.

When you continue the tour, you do so with a smile.


	6. Chapter Six ⎯ The Office

The clock ticks over to 11:00 AM, and you sigh. One more hour to go.

The hospital is buzzing with energy as you walk towards the ICU reception desk, your pile of patient folders filling your arms. You’ve managed to keep your mind fairly clear all shift but, every time you pass that storage closet door, your skin heats up as memories flood you.

_With one hand he takes your knee and slides it up his side, and with the other, he strokes his hard length. Your own hands find his shoulders, desperately searching for support, and your heartbeat speeds up as you feel him place himself at your entrance._

God, and to think that it happened only yesterday. Not even twenty-four hours ago, you were pressed against that door, holding back your moans as Elijah⎯ “Hey, Jill,” you greet, pulling yourself from those thoughts. Doctor Jill Harries smiles up at you as you place the pile of folders down, letting out an exhausted sigh. “How many more to go?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile as she hands you another seven files. “These are the last ones, I promise. And, hey⎯thanks for filling in Lisa’s shift. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

You shrug, sliding the new pile into your arms and balancing it on your hip. “It’s nothing, really. And besides, I have to make up for not making it on New Years night. That’s gonna be one hell of a shift.”

“You’re telling me,” she scoffs. “Also, I just wanna say that you look great. Yesterday you looked like you were about to start eating brains, but now you’re almost...glowing. What’s the secret?”

Heat rises up your neck, images flashing before your eyes.

_He doesn’t need any lubrication⎯you’re so wet that you’re dripping down your own thigh⎯so he fully sheaths himself in one push, stretching your walls further than they’ve ever been stretched._

Biting your lip, you give an innocent smile. “Yoga,” is your answer, slowly stepping back. “I’ll see you later, Jill.”

There’s a glint in the other woman’s eyes like she  _knows_ , and she waves you off. “See you, Y/N.”

**⎯⎯⎯**

Two rooms to go.

Stepping into room 317, you lightly rap on the door and give a light smile to the man lying on his bed. Around him are flowers and ‘Get Well Soon’ balloons, colour and life surrounding him. And yet, he looks miserable.

You look at the stump where his leg should be, and you know exactly why.

“Morning, Kyle.” You place his file on the table beside the bed, beginning to check his vitals. “How’re you feeling today? Any concerns?”

The young man has deep, dark circles under his eyes, the usual light blue of them dull and lifeless. He lost a part of himself when they amputated his left leg, and now he looks like a shell; empty. There’s a small movement of his head, but you can’t tell if it’s a nod or a shake, or if he’s simply trembling.

You stop what you’re doing and sit on the edge of his bed, and his eyes follow your movements. “I know you didn’t ask for my advice, and you probably don’t want it,” you say, your voice soft and gentle, “but I think this is something you need to know.” Your hand finds his, squeezing slightly. “You don’t  _have_  to feel okay right now. You’re allowed to mourn over something you lost, to feel helpless. To cry. What you’re  _not_  allowed to do is let this affect your whole life. You’re an amazing guy, and you have so much ahead of you. So much that you can still do. If you let yourself believe that your leg is the only thing stopping you from doing what you want, then it’ll be true.”

He breathes, thinks, and then sighs. “Football was supposed to be it, you know? I was supposed to go far, do it until I was too old or too unfit. I’m twenty-five. I’m not supposed to be done yet.”

“Look, I see a lot of patients come and go through here. I once had an artist come in who had been blinded; he thought he would never be able to paint again, and he thought it was all over. There was a ballet dancer who snapped her tibia and was told she could never dance again. A race-car driver had an accident and ended up paralysed from the neck down, and could never get back behind the wheel.”

“So what you’re saying is that other people have it worse than me,” Kyle says, and you shake your head.

“No, I’m saying that this⎯what you’re going through right now⎯isn’t uncommon. You want to know something about those patients? The artist decided that he wouldn’t let his blindness stop him from being creative, and he began to make music; art for the ears, he calls it. The dancer who broke her leg is now one of the city’s most sought-after dance instructors, teaching generations of young dancers so that others can experience the passion that she had. That race-car driver does motivational speaking, touring schools to teach kids about driving safely and the consequences that can come with accidents.”

Kyle is silent, his eyes not meeting yours.

“What I’m saying, Kyle,” you continue, “is that this isn’t the end. If football is truly your passion, then you can find a way to continue being involved in what you love. And if that doesn’t work out, there’s so much out there that you can still accomplish.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. With a small nod, you know that he’s heard you⎯understands you⎯and that there’s nothing more you need to say.

As you’re picking up his file, a nurse pokes her head into the room. “Hey, Y/N, there’s a call for you at reception. It’s City National Bank.”

Your heart plummets to the bottom of your chest as dread fills you, and you nod in thanks. And to think that you were having a good day.

**⎯⎯⎯**

“Hi, this is Y/N.”

The woman on the other end of the phone sounds nice enough when she answers, but that doesn’t stop the cold sweat that’s forming on your hairline. “ _Hi, Y/N, this is Stephanie with City National Bank. How are you today?_ ”

You swallow thickly, your stomach doing flips. “Uh, I’m alright thanks,” you answer. “Is this about my last loan payment? Because I could’ve sworn I paid it.”

There’s a smile in her voice. “ _Yes it is, Miss Y/L/N. I was just calling to let you know that your deposit was cleared. On behalf of the Midtown branch, I would like to congratulate you on being debt-free! For more details on what this means for you, you can come into the branch any time, or call with any questions._ ”

“Uh.” You think your heart has stopped, your cold sweat now a cold pool running down your neck. You’re not exactly sure you’ve heard her correctly. “Did you say debt-free? As in…”

“ _That’s right,_ ” Stephanie chuckles. “ _Your student loans have been completely paid off, and your account is no longer in debit. Is there anything else I can help you with?_ ”

You’re numb. Your mind is blank. Is this a dream? Because surely she’s not telling you what you think she’s telling you.

“Just, um, just for clarification, you said that my loans are paid off. As in, I no longer owe the bank any money. Right?”

“ _That’s correct._ ” Is it possible for your lungs to just...stop working? Because you haven’t taken a breath since the start of the phone call. “ _Is there anything else I can assist with?”_

“No...I don’t think so.”

“ _Alright then, you have a lovely day, Miss Y/L/N!_ ”

“Yeah, you too.” And then you hang up, staring wide-eyed at the counter. This isn’t real. You’re dreaming, or hallucinating, or  _something_. A buzz in your pocket reminds you to breathe, and you suck in a deep breath as you pull out your phone to read a text from your mother.

‘ **Hey, sweetie. The hospital just called to let me know that my medical bills have all been paid off. Thank you so much for your help! I owe you. Love, mom.** ’

Okay, the air has once again been sucker-punched out of your lungs, and you sit down in a vacant chair as you feel your limbs grow weak. You’ve been in debt practically your whole life; you’ve always owed somebody  _something_ , and you’ve had to work your ass off just to survive. Now, you’ve apparently got no debt at all. None. You don’t owe a single penny.

You might throw up; you’ve never felt like this before. Like a weight has been lifted off your chest, and you can finally  _breathe_.

Okay, you’re actually tearing up.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jill says, and you quickly wipe your eyes, “these flowers were delivered for you.” She’s smiling suggestively, placing the lavish bouquet on the desk. The bunch of light pink roses are gorgeous, but your mind is so frazzled that you can barely even comprehend their beauty.

“Thanks, Jill,” you mutter, standing up and picking up the bouquet. This is too much; too many good things have happened to you this morning. Somebody must be pranking you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in the scent of the pink buds, allowing it to fill your senses and distract you for a moment. As you breathe, slowly and deeply as you try to calm yourself, your fingers brush against the small card attached to it. You don’t need to read it to know who it’s from, but you do anyway.

‘ **You no longer have to worry about money. ⎯ E** ’

It’s short and sweet, and it tells you everything you need to know.

**⎯⎯⎯**

Glass windows wrap around the entirety of the high-rise, and you get dizzy looking up to the top of it. This one in particular, situated in the heart of the city, is one of the tallest ones around, its glory an indicator of the man who owns it.

The Mikaelson Enterprises building is as intimidating as Elijah Mikaelson himself.

As you enter, the lobby flowing with professionals in suits, you subconsciously tug at your sweater, the light blue material too casual compared to the tailored skirt-suits that walk past you. Your jeans are ripped and your sneakers are worn, and you look entirely out of place amongst the sea of businesspeople. Still, you walk further until you get to the reception desk, nervously twiddling your fingers.

“Hi,” you say to the woman behind it. She looks startled, like she didn’t even see you walk up. “Um, on which floor would I find Elijah Mikaelson?”

You can’t read her facial expression, but you’re fairly sure it’s a mixture of shock and amusement. She sees that you’re not joking, though, and clears her throat. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” The butterflies in your stomach are made of lead, and your gut drops further. “No, I don’t. Is there any chance I’d be able to see him today?”

The lipstick that paints her lips is probably more expensive than your entire outfit, you realise, watching her bite her red lower lip. “No, honey,” she says, and you twitch at the condescension. “Mr Mikaelson doesn’t see anyone who hasn’t first make an appointment, and all of his appointments are vetted. You usually have to call a month in advance.”

You ignore the tone of her voice, nodding politely. “How about his assistant? Maybe I could just speak to them?”

She stares at you for a moment, pondering, before she scoffs. “Sure, why not? As a general precaution, though, I’m going to have to send a security guard up with you. His assistant is on the top floor.”

You nod again, smiling. “Thank you,” you murmur, watching a burly security man walk over to you. Even if you wanted to, you could never take him on. He’s at least twice as big as you, both in height and in width. He could snap you like a toothpick.

The man walks closely by you to the elevator, and you make yourself as small as possible in the corner as he presses the top floor. You want to make a quip about you’re the most non-threatening person in the building, but his hard glare and thick muscles shut you up. A shiver runs down your spine.

By the time the elevator makes it to the top⎯it’s a very,  _very_  tall building⎯you’re wondering if this is even worth it; whether you should have just left a text message and gone about your day. However, you need to see him in person. You need to say this to his face.

You step out into the lavish reception area of this and towards a desk where a pretty brunette sits, filing her nails. She sees you, her brown eyes raking over your attire, and gives you a forced, almost pained, smile. “You must be the girl who’s trying to see Mr Mikaelson,” she says, standing up.

Your answer is stuck in your throat as you take in the beauty of the room. Glass detailing gives a clean finish, marble floors and pillars adding a cultured touch. Behind the assistant’s desk, you see the door into Elijah’s office, the dark oak walls blocking any view inside. You wonder if he’s even in there.

Shifting your eyes from behind her, you smile at the receptionist, reading the name badge on her left breast. Katherine. “Yeah,” you nod, burying your hands into your pockets. “Um, is Elijah here? I just need to speak to him really quickly.”

The look on Katherine’s face is filthy, her disliking of you extremely palpable. She actually chuckles. “Look, sweetie, I’ve told your friends over and over again. We don’t accept  _those_  sorts of business propositions here.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, her words running through your mind but making no sense. But then she continues.

“You’ll have better luck on the corner.”

The clarification is like a slap across the face, her words shocking your jaw open. “Are you⎯I’m not a prostitute!”

You don’t mean to raise your voice, but apparently the security guard isn’t happy when you do. A large, strong hand clamps around your upper arm, tugging you away. “Alright ma’am, it’s time for you to leave.”

You can’t believe this. Not five minutes in, and you’re already being escorted out. Forcing your voice to be calm, you sigh at Katherine. “Please, just tell him that Y/N stopped by and that I need to talk to him. He knows who I am, I promise.”

The security guard is pulling harder, his bruising grip biting into your arm. You clench your jaw.

To your surprise, Katherine holds her petite hand up, halting the guard as she rolls her eyes. “If you’re lying, and he doesn’t know who you are, I’m calling the police.”

You nod eagerly as she presses a button on the phone, and you listen to the dial.

“ _Yes, Katherine?_ ” You recognise his voice immediately. That’s Elijah.

“There’s a woman here who wants to see you. Claims that you know her. Give me the word, and I’ll have security escort her out.”

“ _Tell her to schedule an appointment,_ ” Elijah drones, obviously bored already. “ _I do not have time for walk-ins._ ”

Katherine’s smirk could cut right through you. Finger still on the button, she glares at you. “Security, please escort Y/N out of the building.”

The man tugs harder on your arm, and you grunt as he begins pulling you back towards the elevator. His footsteps are stopped, though, when Elijah’s voice bites through the phone. “ _Did you say Y/N?_ ”

“Yes, sir. Not to worry, she’s being escorted⎯”

“ _Not another word, Katherine._ ” And he hangs up.

An unexplainable emotion crosses over the woman’s features as security holds you there, waiting. And, almost as soon as the call has ended, the office door behind Katherine opens.

Elijah steps out, jaw clenched. “Unhand her,” he states to the man holding you, fury buried beneath his words as he watches the large hand detach from you. He then watches as your own hand flies up to hold your bruising arm, his eyes flicking up to the man beside you. “You,” he says, “pack your things and never step foot in this building again.”

There’s no question as the man beside you huffs, going back to the elevator door. Elijah’s eyes then soften as he slowly steps towards you. “Y/N, you should have told me you were coming. I would have greeted you personally.”

“Um, yeah,” you mumble, eyes going between him and Katherine, standing dumbstruck behind her desk. “I would’ve called, but I wanted to speak to you face-to-face.”

His hand lightly touches your back as he guides you towards his office. “Are you okay? Is your arm hurt?”

You drop your hand, smiling. “Yeah, I’m fine.” The door closes behind you, and you’re nervous again.

“Did you get my flowers?”

You bite your lip, looking to the floor. Marble underneath your worn sneakers is a contrast you never thought you’d see. “Yep,” you reply. “Along with a call from the bank congratulating me for being debt-free.”

Elijah is leaning on the edge of his desk, one hand in his pocket. He doesn’t reply.

With a sigh, you think back to the speech you had written on the cab ride over here. “Look, Elijah. I appreciate it, I really do, but I didn’t get into this⎯” you gesture between you both, “⎯for the money. And the gifts, I could get past. But paying off my debts? Do you know how much money that cost? I mean, of course you do, but like...that’s a  _lot_  of money. And I’m not a gold digger by any means, so I just need to make sure you know that I don’t want your money; I don’t  _need_  your money. I’m perfectly happy to pay off my own debts, and my own mother’s medical bills, and buy my own jewellery if I want to. I just…” You sigh, unable to find any more words.

“Y/N.” Elijah’s dark eyes stay locked on you as he stands up, slowly walking towards you. “If I had even the slightest suspicion that you only wanted money, I would not be inclined to give you any.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes roaming over you. It’s not judgemental, like Katherine’s gaze. It’s hungry. “You informed me yesterday that the reason for not contacting me was because of your job. That you were taking extra shifts to accommodate for your financial struggles. However, you no longer have any said struggles, and therefore you have no reason to be unavailable.” He’s standing right in front of you now, toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose. “Mark my words, Y/N. You will not ignore me ever again.”

You let out a small breath at his words, remembering the way he told you the same thing yesterday.

_His hand loosens, and you take in a deep breath of air as he begins grinding his hips. “If you ever ignore me again,” he says into your ear, “I will not touch you for a week. No excuses.”_

Gulping, you squeeze your thighs together at the thought. You didn’t come here to have sex. You didn’t come here to have sex. If you repeat the mantra enough times in your head, you might be able to walk away with your dignity; you don’t want him to think that you’re desperate, or easy.

Taking a step back, you nod meekly, biting the inside of your cheek. “Well, um.” You’ve forgotten what you were even talking about for a moment, your mind only filled with sinful thoughts of the man not even a foot away. “Thank you. Again. I can, uh, pay you back.”

The way Elijah shakes his head, his lips tilting into a smirk, makes your heart flutter and heat sink into your core. “There is no need for that,” he says. He follows you as you step back, matching your pace. “However, perhaps there is a way that you could thank me.” Your steps falter, and he takes this opportunity to step up to you, his lips by your ear. “I don’t think that I can wait until the gala to be inside of you again.” His words send a shiver through you, goosebumps rising over your skin.

He doesn’t say more, and you know he’s silently asking you a question. _Do you want this?_  Exhaling a shuddery breath, you nod, and his question is answered.

Without warning and pulling a surprised yelp from you, Elijah picks you up from your thighs and spins you around, walking towards his desk. Lips ghosting over the skin of your neck, he places you down so that you’re sitting on the edge of it, the middle of his desk conveniently clear of any objects.

His hand finds your shoulder and slowly pushes you back so that you’re lying down, and your breathing grows heavy as his fingers find your waistband.

“I have been in conference meetings all day,” he says, his voice raspy as he pops open the button of your jeans. “And all I could think about⎯” he yanks down the zipper impatiently, “⎯was bending you over my desk and taking you over⎯” his fingers grip the waistband as he pulls your jeans down your legs, “⎯and over⎯” he throws your jeans away, slipping your shoes off as well, “⎯again, until you couldn’t walk.”

His words pull a small moan from you, and you try to squeeze your thighs together again for some friction. Elijah moves between your legs, though, shaking his head as his fingers stroke the cotton of your panties.

“Nobody will give you pleasure besides me,” he states, dark eyes looking directly into yours, “and that includes yourself. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you breathe, closing your eyes as you feel his fingers stroke the soft skin of your hips. You don’t need to be looking at him to know that he’s watching the way you squirm; the way your body follows his touch like a moth to flame.

“Good,” he whispers. Your breath hitches as you feel him pull your panties down your legs tantalisingly slow, the air on your soaking core sending a chill through you. Elijah must like the sight of your dripping pussy, because he lets out a strained moan, his thick fingers stroking your inner thighs. “Mm, so wet. So ready. I bet that I could slip inside of you in one go, couldn’t I? Just like yesterday. You take me so well.”

You can’t reply⎯can’t utter a single syllable⎯you can only nod as you bite your lip desperately, waiting for him to touch you.

When you don’t feel anything, you open your eyes and try to lean up on your elbow. Elijah’s hand finds your chest again, pushing you back down. “No no, you will stay right there. Lying still and open for me.”

One hand stays on your chest, holding you down, while the other trails from your inner thigh to the edge of your core. He’s close to where you need him, but not close  _enough_. “Please.” Your voice is barely audible, your hips squirming in hope of any contact.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and you’re wondering what he’s so proud about when you feel it; rather than his fingers, like you were expecting, you feel his tongue, flat and long and delicious, dragging up your pussy and collecting all of the wetness that he had created. He hums against you, the vibrations making you moan loudly. “So delicious,” he says.

As if he can’t get enough, he begins devouring you.

Lapping you up, tongue dipping into you as his teeth graze against your clit, your legs are trembling as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the strands as your thighs clamp around his head. He’s not deterred, though, instead diving deeper, his long tongue nearly making you cry out as he slides it inside of you, his stubble burning your inner thighs. He’s eating you out as if he’s never eaten before, and you feel a familiar tightness in your lower stomach.

Every movement of his tongue against you sends jolts of electricity to your clit, the strong muscle twirling into your entrance and then flicking over the bundle of nerves in  _just_  the right way. You can hear him; licking and slurping and drinking you up, never breaking for a breath. Like you⎯your juices⎯are his oxygen.

Tugging at his hair and letting out a high-pitched moan, you signal to Elijah that you’re about to cum; that you’re so close you can practically  _taste_  it. He keeps up his pace, licking and kissing and lapping, until pleasure explodes over your entire body, your fingers and toes going numb as your orgasm washes over you.

As you think that you’re coming down from your high, Elijah slips two fingers inside of you.

Just like that, with a loud cry and a trembling body, he pulls you right back over the edge, your orgasm extending as he thrusts his fingers in you at a rapid pace. He’s not working you through it, you realise; he’s trying to make it last as long as possible.

He sucks on your clit as he crooks his fingers, and you feel every push and pull of his thick digits as stars dance behind your eyelids, the second wave of pleasure hitting you. You can’t even moan. Instead you lie there, fingers nearly pulling Elijah’s hair out, as you catapult over.

You’re a trembling mess as you slowly come down, your shaking legs heavy over Elijah’s shoulders. Slipping his fingers from inside of you, Elijah stands up, licking his shining lips. He looks proud, because of  _course_  he does, and he holds up his glistening fingers.

Without a second thought, you open your mouth and poke out your tongue a bit, watching as his eyes darken once again. He leans over you and offers you his fingers, which you take into his mouth greedily, closing your eyes as you taste yourself.

Working your tongue around them, you suck yourself off of him, hollowing your cheeks. Elijah’s groan is deep, and when you let them go with a pop, he  _growls_.

“Get up.” His voice is strong, commanding, and you don’t dare oppose it. Two orgasms in, and you’re still eager for more. You stand on shaky legs and let out a shuddering breath when Elijah’s hands grip your waist, spinning you around. His hand once again guides you down, and your face meets the warm wood of his desk as you’re bent over.

The sound of his zipper makes you clench, and you wiggle your hips. You want him. You need him. And this time, Elijah doesn’t hesitate.

When his head lines up with your entrance, you gasp. God, you’ve never felt so desperate in your entire life, pushing back into him. “Now, now,” Elijah’s voice berates, pulling away. “Be patient.”

Your entire body stills. You don’t dare to move a muscle in the fear that he’ll stop, and you feel his hand move to the back of your neck, holding you down.

And then, he slides in.

He doesn’t do it in one go like yesterday⎯though he could if he wanted to, with two orgasms of lubrication⎯but instead he slides in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every push of his cock stretching you out. He’s savouring it, making it last, and you appreciate it as much as he does. You can feel all of him now. Every vein, every pulse.

When Elijah bottoms out, he stays there for a moment, throbbing inside of your tight walls, his hands sliding to your hips and gripping them tightly. You want to move, to create any friction at all, but you know that doing so will only make him stop. So you wait, silently and impatiently, until you finally feel him begin to pull out again.

And then, with a force that will probably bruise your hip bones as they hit the edge of the desk, he snaps his hips back into yours, thrusting long and hard and deep.

He sets his brutal pace, using your hips to pull you back into him as he roughly thrusts into you, letting out low grunts. Your moans grow louder with every movement, and you feel as he reaches your g-spot every time.

Grabbing one of your thighs, Elijah moves it up to rest on the desk, opening you up and allowing him to reach deeper inside of you, the noise of skin slapping on skin and your desperate moans filling the room. At this angle, every snap of his hips sends his balls slapping against your clit, the constant motion bringing you, yet again, closer and closer to your third orgasm.

When you clench tightly around him, Elijah groans, increasing his pace.

“Fuck,” you hear him grunt, his profanities increasing the faster he goes. “Jesus Chr⎯”

You’re there, teetering right on the edge, about to come, when his hand snakes around you and begins flicking your clit, his thrusts growing sloppy as he gets closer to his own orgasm.

“Cum for me,” he growls, pinching the sensitive bud. “Cum right now, Y/N.”

And you do; you fly so hard over the edge that your vision goes black, your body going limp for a moment. Elijah is right behind you, stilling as he spills his load and grunting as he reaches his high. You both stay like that for a moment, allowing your peaks to run through you like molten lava.

When Elijah pulls out of you, you whimper.

Everything feels heavy. Your muscles, your brain, your eyelids. You’re so entirely fucked out that you can barely stop yourself from sliding right off the desk and onto the cool floor, gravity working against you as you try and get your leg muscles to work.

Luckily, Elijah is there to help.

His strong hands help you to stand up, his hands slipping under your knees as he picks you up bridal style. You don’t object to being carried⎯you can’t, you don’t think your lungs will start working for a while⎯so you merely lie in his arms as he carries you over to the couch at the side of his office. Setting you down, he takes the handkerchief out of his suit pocket, gently cleaning up your sensitive core.

It’s a little shell-shocking, the transition from the dominant man who bent you over a desk to the one who’s tenderly cleaning up both of your messes, but it’s welcome. In fact, you can’t help but smile as he finishes up, standing up once again.

“Three,” he says, half a smirk curling his lips. “I believe that is a new record. Next time, we shall make it four.”

 _Four orgasms_. The promise in itself makes you shiver, and you sit up, some of your strength coming back to you. Elijah hands you your clothes, and you begin to slip them on again.

“And your record is one,” you comment, a smirk of your own forming. “I bet that I can make it two in one night.”

Elijah’s eyes sparkle at the challenge, and he nods. “Tomorrow night, then,” he agrees, helping you stand up once again, moving so that he can whisper into your ear. “At the gala.”

“Deal,” you whisper back.

When you walk out of his office, hair mussed and gait wobbly, you hide your smirk from Katherine and walk to the elevator, the promise of tomorrow night making you buzz.


	7. Chapter Seven ⎯ The Dress

The morning is silent. Slow. In a green thrifted armchair that sits in the corner of your small living room, with your fluffy-sock-clad feet perched up on the sill of the window, you nurse a steaming cup of fresh coffee and sigh.

It’s just past dawn now, warm light leaking into the room and illuminating the combined clutter of three adults. Piles of novels and textbooks line the walls, covers both worn and shining new, some with potted plants balancing precariously close to the edge. Nearly all the furniture that fills the tiny space is second-hand, one particular corner table picked up from the side of a road. There isn’t an empty or unused inch of wall, and you’re not actually sure that you can remember what the wallpaper underneath looks like. Gaudy, is all you can remember.

Your gaze follows the slow-moving dust that floats in the traces of morning light, each spec so minuscule that they’re nearly not there at all. Bringing one hand away from your mug, you reach out and move your fingers around them, watching as they move in the air around you.

“You’re up early.” The voice comes from the edge of the room, sleep-ridden but chipper. A morning person. You’ve never truly understood that. “What, uh, what’re you doing? With your hand?”

“I was touching the dust,” you mumble, bringing your feet off the window and tucking them under you.

“Looked like you were patting a ghost,” comes the reply, fully deadpan despite the joke. Your roommate is many things, but a comedian probably isn’t one of them.

Finally, with an effort than makes you grunt, you turn your head and peak over at the figure leaning on the doorframe. He’s still in his pyjamas; grey sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, despite the freezing temperatures that it often reaches, blonde hair messily hanging over his forehead. You raise a brow at him before settling back into the comfortable cushions of the armchair.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Stefan?” Blowing into your mug, you don’t hear him step closer to you. “Like, I don’t know, work?”

When he speaks, his voice is a lot closer. “Yeah, I don’t have to leave for another few hours,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “What about you? I thought you switched shifts or something.”

“I did.” You pause, taking a long, loud sip. “I woke up naturally; I guess my body was just too excited to stay asleep.”

“Excited for what?”

“Uh…” This early in the morning, your brain works double-time to try and come up with an excuse. “You know…it’s New Year’s Eve! Why wouldn’t I be excited?”

“Right.” You can tell he’s not convinced, and you don’t dare make eye contact with him to find out. “Well, if you don’t want to tell me, then at least tell Lexi. You know how she is about being left out of the loop.”

Nodding, you wince as you realise that he’s right. Like it or not, you’re going to have to fess up to her about your relationship with Elijah. You know that she won’t approve⎯that she’ll dig deep within and find details and truths that will prove it’s not a good idea⎯but you have to tell her anyway; you have to listen to that tiny voice in the back of your mind, that almost childlike urge to just  _spill_. She’s your best friend; you can’t keep this a secret forever.

And Stefan, best friend to you both, knows this just as well.

**⎯⎯⎯**

_It was a Tuesday afternoon, the glaring Summer sun blocked by the blankets that were haphazardly hung over the windows. The apartment was shrouded in darkness and consumed by the mellow, dragging notes of Coltrane’s ‘Naima’ playing on your old record player, as the stench of cigarette smoke⎯which you later learned was near impossible to remove from the furniture and pillows it seeped into⎯clouded the air a murky grey._

_You weren’t even a smoker. But today, you needed to fill your lungs with something other than heartache. A different type of toxic._

_When Lexi and Stefan pushed through the door, mid-conversation about their days at work and laughing heartily, they first smelled the smoke, then saw the darkness, then heard the music. They shared a glance⎯worry brewing in their light eyes and their brows pulling together in question⎯before finally stepping into the pit of sorrow that you had created._

_“Y/N?” Lexi’s call for you was tentative, almost unsure. Stefan, keen eyes trying to assess the details of the room without any light to aid him slowly, as if worried that his feet would break the floorboards if he moved any faster, stepped towards the window of the living room, hand outstretched. When he felt the cheap fabric of the blanket that you had used to blackout the room, he carefully pulled it down, eyes squinting at the sudden burst of light that it let in. As he eased the window open, the heavy smoke began to slowly dissipate, in turn allowing them both to see the state of the apartment._

_Everything, much to their surprise, was mostly in its place; not a single book was moved an inch, even the throw blanket seemed to be arranged over the couch exactly how it had been when they’d left. It wasn’t what was already there that worried them, though; it was what had been put there after they had gone. Or, more accurately, what had been strewn across the floor._

_A sea of used, balled-up tissues covered the majority of the floor, the carpet of snot and single-ply carelessly arranged around the furniture. They could tell, just by the patterns and piles, that you had been sitting on the couch when you’d thrown them. When you’d used them._

_Lexi and Stefan were natural-born carers. Growing up, they had always been the selfless ones; now, it was their_ job _to care for people. But the feeling that filled them when they saw the room was beyond their job-description compassion. There was panic in the mix. Fear. They knew that you were hurting, and now they only wanted to help._

_They found you curled up in your bed, buried beneath your duvet in a closed cave of smoke and tears. You were half-asleep, eyes too heavy to bother opening them, and you were wearing the same thing as when they last saw you. You hadn’t showered, hadn’t eaten, probably hadn’t had a sip of water. You were a complete wreck. And, the loving best friends that they were, they committed to picking you up and piecing you back together._

**⎯⎯⎯**

You can see the worry in Stefan’s eyes now, shimmering that captivating blue as he seems to look right into you. A small smile pulls at your lips but doesn’t quite convince, and you see it; that recognition in his eyes, as if he knows that you’re thinking about that day too.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to; you’re so refined in your communication with each other, that you can say everything with a look.  _I’m worried about you_ , he says.  _I don’t want you to get hurt like that again_.

 _I know_ , you reply.  _But I won’t. This is different_.

_Are you sure?_

_I promise._

He nods.  _Okay_. Turning his body away, he goes to move to the kitchen but pauses mid-step, turning back to you with the slightest smirk, and shoots you a wink.  _If you change your mind, I can pull out the brass knuckles_.

With a light chuckle and a wide grin, you watch him walk away.

**⎯⎯⎯**

The clock loudly and abruptly ticks over to 12:00PM, the sound slicing straight through your mindless daze. Sitting on your bed, your small closet open in front of you, you’re facing a dilemma.

You don’t actually have anything to wear.

Pointing a glare at the cheap clock on your nightstand, you realise that you now have eight hours until the gala begins. That’s eight hours to go shopping, try on dresses, pick one, buy one, find a pair of shoes to match, get home, do your hair, do your makeup,  _and_ finish the episode of The Office that you currently have paused on your laptop.

You woke up at dawn, and you  _still_  don’t have enough time.

With a defeated sigh, you throw yourself back into your bed, lying on your back on top of your plush comforter and staring at the ceiling. There are cracks in the plaster, you realise; hairline and harmless, but cracks nonetheless. You’ve never observed the minute details before⎯never really looked long enough to notice the faintly-visible brush strokes from where the ceiling has been painted⎯and you wonder, as your legs hang limply over the edge and as bitter acceptance settles in your chest, what else you’ve missed.

Maybe you’re in over your head.

Everything about your time with Elijah has been a whirlwind. From the very first second, you’ve been seeing it all from a distance; you’ve been so caught up in the sex and the money and the danger that you haven’t actually cared to look closer.

Suddenly, you can vividly see the two worried pairs of eyes who you’ve been keeping it all from, and doubt crosses over you as you wonder… _what the hell am I doing?_

Once again, your mindless⎯now slightly panic-ridden⎯daze is obstructed, this time by a curt knock at the door.

You nearly can’t even be bothered to move from your place atop your bed, your limbs suddenly filled with lead as your lazy mind scrolls through who could possibly be at your door. Lexi and Stefan are both at work, and if they want to come in, they have keys. Your parents are still in Virginia while your mom slowly [and safely] recovers, and they would text you if they were visiting. You have a few work friends, but none who would show up unannounced [they aren’t animals]. It wouldn’t be Elijah. Somehow, you just know that.

It turns out, after dragging yourself out of bed and trudging through the small apartment to squint through the peephole, that it’s someone you nearly forgot existed.

“Hey, Josh!” Your tone is a mixture of happy and confused, and he smiles like he understands. “What…are you doing here?”

The boy⎯ _man_ , rather⎯nods with an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his neck as he steps aside, revealing his…“Nice rack,” you comment, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow at the clothing rack that he has, somehow, rolled up the five flights of stairs to your apartment. Only now do you notice the sweat collecting at his hairline and the way he’s breathing heavily. “Did you carry that all the way up here?” Stupid question; of course he did. You don’t know why you’re making small talk with him after a car ride of meaningful discussion when you first met him. Are you…nervous?

He ignores your question, lips pulling together in apology. “Elijah sent me.” Straight to the point. “He said to choose whichever one you like, they’re all yours.”

Your eyes travel over the long garment bags that are hanging on the clothing rack, and your eyes widen as you realise exactly what it is. After all of Elijah’s generosity, all of his gifts and payments, you don’t know why you’re still so surprised to receive things from him. This rack, of what you assume are gowns for tonight’s gala, is no exception.

To hide your shock, your lips curl into a joking smile. “What, did he want to make sure that I wore something he approved of?” You watch as Josh’s eyes widen a fraction. “He doesn’t trust my own sense of style?”

Josh blushes a deep red, nervously shaking his head. “No no, nothing like that! He just wanted to⎯” When he sees you biting back a wide grin, he sighs, closing his eyes in relief. “You were joking.”

You nod your head, still smiling at your friend. “Yeah, I was.” Stepping aside, you gesture into your apartment with your head. “Come on in, young Joshua.”

“It’s okay, I can come and get the rack tomorrow or something. I’ll leave you to try them on.”

Shaking your head, you reach out your hand and gently rest it on his shoulder. “No way. If you think that you can leave me to make this very important decision on my own, you’re gravely mistaken. I need a second pair of eyes.”

Josh gulps. “Are you sure you want mine?”

“Of course.” You pull him in with a smile, helping him roll the clothing rack in after him. “I’ve never really been good at this whole ‘fashion’ thing.” Though you say it with a chuckle, a sad smile tugs the corners of your lips downward, and you have to turn your face away to hide the emotion brimming in your eyes.

**⎯⎯⎯**

_Sitting in a pile of clothes, you giggled as you looked up at where he sat on the bed, beer bottle in hand. Always with a drink in hand, these days._

_“Okay, how about this?” Holding the item above your head, you swayed it back and forth a few times for emphasis, the sheer material fluttering softly._

_“Honey, I told you. I don’t care what you wear. Just pick something soon so that we can make the reservation.” His eyes were glued on the book he was reading, a playful smile touching his lips. But, as lighthearted as his voice was, you couldn’t help your deep sigh._

_“Babe. I really do need your help. Can you just look up from the book for like, one second?”_

_Blue eyes flicked up, assessed, and then flicked down again. “Not that one. What about the blue dress? I liked that one.”_

_Rummaging around the messy mound of fabric, you picked up the tiny dress that you hadn’t worn in years. You couldn’t help it; your brows pulled tightly together, a wince forming as you looked at the garment. You didn’t know why you even still had that. “This thing?” He briefly looked up and then nodded. “I haven’t worn this in years, babe. I don’t think I would even still fit into it.”_

_“Well, that’s a shame,” was his reply. Taking a swig of his beer, he flicked a page on his book. “You used to look really good in that.”_

_You knew that he didn’t mean anything by his words, but the way he strung them together made you frown._ You used to look really good. _You knew that you’d put on a few pounds⎯your job was stressful, and you tended to compensate for bad days with the donut store down the road⎯but you thought that you were rocking your new bod. You thought that your boyfriend liked it._

_Biting your lip, you nodded to yourself when you realised that he wouldn’t be much help at all. And, with a new blanket of self-consciousness making you feel heavier and wider, you new that you wouldn’t be going for the tighter, more revealing look that you were once trying to achieve. Picking up jeans and a flowy top, you stood and made your way to the bathroom. You didn’t want to get dressed in front of him._

**⎯⎯⎯**

Josh follows you into your bedroom, and you gesture to your bed as you roll the clothing rack to the wall. “I just need your honest opinion, okay? No bullshitting me to make me feel better. I can take it.”

His nod is determined. “No bullshitting. Got it.”

All of the dresses are completely hidden within the garment bags, so you move a few around as if that will help you find The One. “Have you seen any of them?” you ask, raising your brows hopefully. “The dresses?”

“No, Elijah made me promise not to touch any of them. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Alright.” Picking a random bag from the middle, you shrug. “I guess we’ll start with this one.”

**⎯⎯⎯**

Golden details sparkles over you, the intricately-beaded embroidery catching the light with every breath. As you twirl in front of the floor-length mirror, ignoring the webbed cracks in the glass from multiple clumsy falls, your figure is reminiscent of one of your favourite Disney princesses. Though, Belle could only have  _wished_  to have worn this dress.

Deep red velvet plunges low as the soft fabric hugs your curves, flaring at the hip and swaying around you. The cut of the dress⎯a hint of cleavage and a daring show of your back⎯is an elegant vision, as intoxicating as the fine, red wine it resembles. In this gown, anything is possible; you are powerful. Unstoppable.

Shining copper satin has you treading like a goddess, your figure one which seems to have floated down from the heavens. Simple, thin straps hug your shoulders as the bust pushes your breasts up and out, the corset-like torso slimming you down, the fabric then cascading over your legs in a sheen waterfall. Simple and sophisticated, you feel more beautiful than you have in your entire life.

Seven dresses into the twelve sent, and you sigh at Josh, who is comfortably sitting against your headboard.

“What’s wrong with  _this_  one?” He’s seen you reject gowns worthy of celebrities; dresses too magnificent even for the runway. “If you wear this, you’ll totally be the hottest woman there.”

As you stare at your reflection, turning slowly and watching the material reflect copper light, his words register in a way that you never imagined, realisation pulling a nagging weight from your chest.

These dresses are too beautiful. You haven’t been fully comfortable in them because they’re completely out of your comfort zone; you’re used to gorey scrubs and loose-fitting sweats. Ball gowns that sparkle and flare out at the hips? Not really your style.

“I think I need something simpler,” you decide, shamelessly unzipping the back of the dress and stepping out of it. The material pools at the ground in a shimmering heap, and you pay no mind as you step over it to reach the rack. There are only five garment bags left. If you don’t find the perfect one here, you’ll have to resign yourself to a night of glamorous discomfort.

In a rush of slight desperation, you begin to unzip each bag, peering into them without pulling any of the dresses out. The first one is a midnight black, with sequins blanketing the entirety and giving the appearance of the night sky, stars seemingly flickering all over the dress. The second is the colour of honey, its warm hue and soft fabric giving the gown an illusion of fluidity, as if the substance itself is dripping down the skirt. The third, bursting out of the bag as soon as the zipper allows it, is a gorgeously-detailed gown fit for royalty, the bust covered in tiny, glittering jewels and the skirt of tulle flowing out at the waist; a deep lavender colour, you know that this dress would appear to be the height of wealth. The fourth gown is a simple silhouette of shining azure, the off-the-shoulder neckline dipping ever so slightly into the cleavage and the skirt flowing effortlessly, a single slit up the leg allowing for the slightest hint of skin while remaining elegant.

As your fingers brush over the zipper of the fifth and final bag, your eyes flick back to the previous dress, the shade of blue so familiar that you know instantly. “This one,” you announce, slipping the dress out of its bag and unfastening the back of it. You turn to Josh as you step into it, slowly pulling it up your body. “This is the one.”

“How do you know?” His face doesn’t betray any emotions, but you know that he’s comparing the simplicity of this dress to the stunning ones you previously tried on. “You didn’t even see the last dress.”

“I don’t need to.” You zip up the back of the dress, adjusting the straps that hug your upper arm and moving your boobs so that they billow out slightly. “I felt fake in the other ones; like an imposter. But this one…it feels like home.”

Raising his eyebrow, he assesses you as you finally settle in the dress, doing a spin. “Okay, it does look great on you,” he admits, nodding. “But still, you looked like a princess in the other ones!”

“Good thing I’m not a princess.” Your fingers glide over the smooth material of your dress, and a smile pulls at your lips. “This is the exact same colour as my work scrubs. I feel like  _myself_  in this.”

For a second, you think that he might ridicule you; that he might ask why on earth you would want to feel like you’re at work when you’re at a fancy gala. But you can see the light in your own eyes in the reflection, the way your smile is genuine for the first time since you began trying on dresses. And you think that he sees it too, because he lets out a small sigh and smiles.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and by his tone, you know he means it.

“I’m totally going to kill it tonight,” you declare proudly, hands on your hips. You feel a lightness in your chest; excitement for what is to come, and confidence in this magnificent gown. “Those snobs at the party won’t know what hit them!”

Josh, with a wide smile, stands up and holds his hand in the air. “Hell yeah,” he agrees.

The slap of your high-five fills the room as your heart nearly beats out of your chest. You’re ready for this.


	8. Chapter Eight ⎯ The Gala Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come; Elijah is here to pick you up for the gala. But, both desperate for the other’s touch and overcome by intense lust, you may not be leaving right away.

There is nothing but silence in the back seat of the limo as Elijah tries to calm his beating heart. This emotion⎯this thing that's swirling deep within him, disturbing the peace of his usually confident mind⎯is foreign to him. It's not nerves [Elijah Mikaelson does  _not_  get nervous], and it's not excitement [he is a grown man, not a school child], but it's something teetering in the middle. Something that has him fixing his bowtie for the dozenth time; adjusting his cufflinks as if doing so will ease his tension.

He hates to admit it, but all he can think about is you.

Since the day he saw you in the airport, broken and desperate on Christmas Eve night, he has been transfixed. He was enraptured by your spirit⎯he swears that the conversations you shared on his jet are the most genuine he's had in years⎯and taken by your beauty. But it's your heart, the thing that drives you to save lives and forces you to refuse his funds, that has anchored him in the sea of you. As he wades through the unpredictable waves of this affair, he finds himself unable to get you off his mind.

The car turns a corner, and Elijah sees a sparkling pair of brown eyes smiling at him through the rearview mirror.

"Are you nervous, sir?"

Elijah doesn't meet his eyes in the hopes of maintaining his composure. "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, straightening in his seat. "Must you drive so slow? The night may be over by the time we arrive at her apartment."

Though he isn't looking, he knows that Josh is smirking. If he didn't appreciate the young man so much, Elijah would fire him just for the insinuation.

"Won't be long, now," Josh assures him, though Elijah feels each second ooze by like cold molasses, dragging further and longer than necessary, his heart beating faster to compensate for how late he feels. "And, hey, if it's any consolation? She's pretty nervous, too."

"I am not nervous." His tone doesn't scrub the smile from Josh's face. "This is not elementary school, Joshua," Elijah continues. "We are two adults attending a gala. There is nothing to be nervous about."

Images of you flash before him.  _Huddled on the airport floor, phone clutched in hand and still in your work scrubs._  So beautiful.  _Sitting next to him on the jet, legs outstretched, whiskey glass in hand as you smile at him_. So beautiful.  _Laid out on his bed, naked aside from the diamond necklace he gifted you, dripping between your legs and panting for him_. So beautiful.

His pants tighten, and he clears his throat.

Eyes travelling out the window, he focuses on the passing streetlamps; the heavy traffic surrounding him, the city buzzing with life even at this time in the evening. He tries to take in the details of the passersby⎯focus on the outfits or the hairstyles or the faces⎯but his mind is plagued with thoughts of you.

 _You whip around, your jaw clenched and your eyes red-rimmed. "Look, buddy," you practically spit at him, "you're gonna wait your turn. I've been standing here for three_ fucking _hours trying to sort this shit out."_  That was the first time you ever spoke to him, your exhausted figure full of fire at the airport. He remembers admiring your spirit. Admiring the determination that shimmered in your tired eyes.

 _A thin sheen of sweat glistens over your naked body, small pulses shaking you as you lie on his bed, panting. Two orgasms. And you had taken his fingers so beautifully, that he could only imagine how you would feel around his cock. "I don't know if I can take anymore tonight..."_  Elijah still dreams about the way you looked that night; the first time he ever provided an orgasm for you. And he doesn't regret leaving it there.

"A minute away, sir," Josh's voice comes from the front, but Elijah can only nod mindlessly as more images of you fill his mind.

_You're pressed against the door of a hospital supply closet, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat as he thrusts into you. He's frustrated; for days, he has been waiting by his phone for any sign that you're back in New York. Now that he knows you've been here all along, he can't help the raw emotions that are swirling through him. So, where words fail him, he shows you how he feels in the way he pounds into you; in the way he brings you over the edge in no time at all._

His hand falls over his thickening cock to ease the discomfort of his refining trousers.

_You've stormed into his office, jaw set and fists clenched in determination. "I just want make sure you know that I don't want your money," you assure. Elijah has paid off all of your debts, and you're responding exactly how he expects. "I don't need your money." But, as frustrated as you're making yourself seem, you can both feel the thick tension in the air between you. It's not long before he's bent you over his desk, pounding into you from behind. He can practically taste it; feel the way your silken walls wrap around him, hugging him so tightly, so wet, so warm-_

"Alright, we're here."

Elijah loosens his tie and clears his throat, but there's no masking the large bulge in his pants. Before Josh can get out to open his door, he's halted by Elijah's voice. "Stay here please, Joshua." He straightens his jacket and adds, "Allow us a few moments."

Elijah doesn't miss the proud crinkle beside Josh's eyes. "Understood, sir."

And so Elijah swiftly exits the car, dark eyes set on the door to your apartment building.

**⎯⎯⎯**

Trepidation fills the air like a deep, swelling sea. Pulse in your ears, each beat thumping against your chest, you bite your nude-painted lips as you pace in your bedroom.

You're not nervous. You are  _not_  nervous.

Eyes flickering to the clock every ten seconds, you wring your hands and hum to yourself to fill the blaring silence that fills the apartment. Lexi and Stefan are at work. Elijah is on his way. And you're wandering around the small space like an absolute idiot, desperate to see the warm chocolate tones of Elijah's eyes.

But you're not nervous.

As you step around the crowded furniture in your bedroom, you catch your reflection in your periphery and halt; you're transfixed by the shining azure, a figure of lapis lazuli in the dim light of your room. It warms your heart to see the hue, calming you as you're overwhelmed by the sense of home. This is where you belong; in this dress, in this colour.

And damn it, you look good.

Hair pulled back in a sleek bun, your neck and shoulders are exposed by the off-the-shoulder sleeves that hug your upper arms, and your chest glints where your diamond necklace gently caresses your collar bones. As often as you refuse his gifts, you can't help but admire the sparkling jewels; if he won't take them back, then you may as well make use of them.

Your gaze travels downwards as you're reminded of how heavenly this dress is; pulling in at the waist and then softly falling down, you're a vision of the sky and the sea all at once. A hint of flesh peeks out from the slit in the side, and will surely show more as you walk and dance, and you smile as you realise its practicality.

 _"Next time we shall make it four,"_  Elijah's voice whispers in your mind. The promise of four orgasms tonight has you tingling from your fingertips to your core, a flush running over your skin and making your insides feel like goo. With this slit in the side of your dress, you hopefully won't have much trouble at all.

You've opened the door, now; memory after memory of your encounters with Elijah floods through you, and you have to sit down as you're filled with heat.

_You're in the bathroom at the hospital, phone pressed to your ear as your fingers drive into you, imagining that it's Elijah thrusting roughly into your soaked cunt. You have to be silent, but you can't help the whimpers and moans that escape you as you listen to his own groans, to the sound of his skin sliding on skin, to the thought of him sitting at his desk, pants undone and hand wrapped tightly around his length as he listens to you pump your fingers-_

A buzz comes from the intercom at your front door, ripping you from your fantasy.

As you rush over⎯as quickly as you can in heels and a floor-length gown⎯you calm your breathing before pressing the button, leaning on the wall beside it. "Hello?"

" _Y/N._ " Elijah's voice is as breathy as your own, and you bite your lip once again to hold back your appreciative sounds. " _It's Elijah. Please, for the love of all things merciful, let me in._ "

A small whimper breaks free, and you shudder, pressing the button to allow him into the building. "You better get here quick," you say to him. "I've got a problem that needs fixing, and I'd hate to have to take care of it myself."

He doesn't respond, and you know he's on his way.

**⎯⎯⎯**

The elevator is broken, so Elijah bounds up the five flights of stairs as quickly as his expensive suit will allow him.

He's painfully hard now, tenting his pants in a way that is anything but subtle, and he's only more worked up after hearing your voice on the intercom. The way your breathing came hard, and the way you whimpered as he spoke. And then, lord help him, when you told him about your problem.

_I'd hate to have to take care of it myself._

Maybe it's his horniness clouding his mind, but Elijah swears that, as long as he lives, you'll never have to take care of anything ever again.

Before he knows it, he's in front of your apartment door. He should be nervous to see your home⎯to be allowed into a space so intimate and so  _Y/N_ ⎯but all he can think about is how much he wants to get in there and bury himself inside of you. He feels like he's waited an eternity since he'd had you last.

When the door opens, and you reveal yourself to him, he's shocked into pause. Because, holy fuck, you are the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on.

You're a natural beauty, and he's seen you in all of your states; weeping and broken in an airport, exhausted and dishevelled at work, and even dressed up for dinner at his home in Mystic Falls. He has always found you incomparably stunning, with an aura and personality that made you seem like a deity from the heavens; an angel that he was not worthy of.

But tonight? Tonight, you embody what an angel could only  _wish_  to look like.

Wrapped in the same blue as your scrubs and glowing from the inside out, you smile shyly at him as you hold the door open. With your hair pulled back, he can see all the gloriously soft skin of your neck and shoulders, with the necklace he gifted to you hanging beautifully above your cleavage. Your dress hugs all of the curves that he sees in his dreams, and he notices the way your leg extends out of a slit at the side.

Moving his gaze upwards again, he notices the look in your eyes. Hungry. Desperate. As impatient as his own. He knows, just by meeting your eyes, that you want exactly what he does.

And so he pushes inside, closes the door behind him, and cups your jaw with his hands.

"I need you," is all he can say, looking deeply into your eyes. He searches them for protest or doubt, but finds only the burning passion that he feels in his chest.

"Then have me," you whisper back, your hand sliding down his chest. When you grasp his thick, throbbing bulge, Elijah closes his eyes, a moan caught in his throat.

Turning you both around, he gently pushes you into the door, hands on your waist and forehead touching yours. With his breath fanning over your lips, he says, "Are you ready? Do you-"

"Yes," you interrupt, already slipping out of your panties and moving your dress out of the way. Taking his wrist, you guide his hand between your legs, feeling his fingers slide through your folds. When Elijah feels how wet you are, he can't help himself; he slips two fingers into you at once, biting his lip when you cry out in pleasure.

"You are so wet already," he groans into your ear, pumping his thick fingers into you slowly. "So ready for my cock. Were you thinking about me the same way I was thinking about you?" You nod against his neck, voice caught in your throat. "Mm, dirty girl. And, did you touch yourself? Did you pleasure yourself, Y/N?"

You shake your head. Of course you didn't touch yourself; Elijah had told you not to. And you want to be good for him.

"Oh, you are such a good girl." His words make you clench around him, and he smirks against your skin. "You like that? You like when I call you a good girl?" Your walls tighten once again, and he picks up his pace, his thumb knocking into your clit with each stroke. "You are so well behaved for me, aren't you? You follow orders so well." He thrusts up with a strength that has his fingertips brushing against your g-spot, and you cry out once again. He continues with his brutal pace. "Well, how about this instruction: cum for me, Y/N. Come on my fingers like the good girl that you are. Do it, cum-"

Moaning loudly, Elijah feels you spasm around his fingers, your body trembling as your orgasm washes over you. With his other hand, he holds you up against the solid wood of the door, and with the other, he slowly eases you down from your high with his fingers. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the dark fabric, and your head falls back as you sigh.

Pulling his fingers from you, Elijah licks them clean while his eyes remain locked on yours.

**⎯⎯⎯**

You can feel his hardness against you and, despite the orgasm that still tingles inside of you, you want to help him. You need to feel him inside of you, long and thick and perfect.

Your hands find his buckle in no time, and Elijah doesn't object as you both fumble to get his pants and briefs down and out of the way. Like a magnetic pull, you're drawn to his cock, gripping around the hard girth and pumping, feeling his lean into your touch. You're both drunk on this, intoxicated by the lust that is surrounding you, and you messily arrange yourselves so that he can enter you; you raise your leg over his hip, he grips himself and lines himself up with your dripping entrance; you tether yourself to his shoulders, and he slides one arm around your waist, pulling you into him; you look up to meet his eyes, he looks down to meet yours.

For the first time, there's a spark that travels between you in that moment. Something deeper than just the sex or the fun or the money. And, when both of your faces inch closer together, your lips a hairbreadth apart, you feel a lightness in your chest.

You don't kiss. This isn't the time, nor the place. Instead, you simply breathe each other's air, hot and heavy with want.

You can taste Elijah's moan as he slides into you, and he can feel your breath of relief as he fully sheaths himself. For a moment, you merely stand there; Elijah bottomed out inside of you, your lips an inch apart.

And then, you move your hips against his, and he pulls back, only to thrust back in with a new kind of heat.

Your elbow hooks around his neck as Elijah fucks you against the door, your moans coming out broken and needy with each hard thrust. Never before has this happened; you and Elijah are not dominant and submissive, you're not giving or taking orders. You are equal, joined in the most intimate of experiences.

With each thrust⎯each push and pull of his hips⎯you can feel the ridges and veins of him drag against you, his length throbbing inside of you as he grinds up and in, and you suck in a deep breath as you throw your head back, using the leg that's wrapped around him to pull him closer. When you look at his face, at his dark eyes and strong jaw, at his kiss-plumped lips and mussed hair, you notice that his eyes are cast down.

He's watching where he disappears inside of you.

"Oh,  _fuck_." The words slip out when you realise he's watching you; watching the way his shining cock, covered in your juices, pulls out of your soaked pussy, and then pushes back in until it reaches the hilt. "Yes, god,  _yes_! Harder, Elijah."

"As you wish," he grunts, hitching your leg up higher. You ignore your high heel as it falls off to the ground, glad that you can curl your toes with each wave of pleasure. And then you let out a squeal as he picks you up, wrapping your thighs around him as he begins to piston his hips into yours.

Your moan is high and long, dragging out as he slips in and out, in and out. The sound of it⎯of skin against skin, of your juices easing his movements⎯fills the bubble of passion that envelopes you both, a cloud of heat surrounding you as you draw closer and closer to your highs.

Elijah's hips stutter when you clench particularly hard around him, unable to control your spasming muscles as you taste the start of your second orgasm. It sends sparks up through your toes, travelling up your legs and straight to your core; shivers erupt at the top of your spine, moving down with each thrust and making goosebumps rise all over your skin.

Skin glistening with sweat and eyes screwed shut, you yell out Elijah's name as you finally tip over the edge, your legs clamping tight around his waist as his cock drives deep inside of you.

Elijah's orgasm follows immediately afterwards.

Both of you still as he pours his hot cum inside of you, and as your own slick cum runs down your thighs; you can do nothing other than cling to him, your quivering pussy milking him for every last drop he has.

After a moment, your heads descending from the clouds and your muscles regaining their strength, you detach yourself from Elijah's body and stand on shaky legs, still holding his shoulders for support as he slips out of you. You have to hold your dress away from your legs as your combined juices drip down your legs, and you scrunch up your nose.

When Elijah's forehead leans against yours, you giggle.

"I'm going to need to clean up a little," you mumble, shy eyes avoiding his. His finger finds your chin, though, and tilts your head up so that he can meet your eyes.

"You are so, magnificently beautiful," he whispers, dark eyes speaking the truth. He brushes loose strands of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing over your cheek. "I am honoured to be able to bring you to this gala."

You take his hand in yours, still holding your gown awkwardly as you start leading him to your bathroom. Your heels lay scattered at the door.

"I'm the one who feels honoured, Elijah," you say to him. "But not because of the gala." You stop in the hall and turn to face him, squeezing his hand. "I don't know why you chose me. You could have anyone you want, and you probably deserve someone better; someone you don't feel the need to support financially. I just...whatever your reason, I'm glad you did choose me."

His hands come to cup your face once again, and his eyes are filled with a warmth that you haven't ever seen before. "I do not know why I chose you, either," he says, softly, "nor why you chose me. But you were not looking to be chosen. And I admire that about you; I wish to give you the world, but you would rather get it for yourself. You are...extraordinary."

Your smile comes naturally, stretching across your face as you stare up into his eyes. You're seeing him in a new light, in this moment; he isn't the rich businessman, nor the sugar daddy, nor the man who dominates you against doors. He's just a man, and you're just a woman.

"C'mon," you mumble through a smile. "Let's get cleaned up, and then let's show the people at the gala how to  _really_  party."


End file.
